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"Great  Granite  Gateway!   Wrapping  us  In 
Where  stillness  reigns  and  sun-rays  peep  askance" 
(See  page  70) 


T^houghts  zAs   They 


(Charlotte   Q.    ^Davenport 


Illustrations  by 

Harold  Field  f^el/ogg 


Copyright 

by  Charlotte  C.  Davenport 
1918 


THOMAS  TODD    COMPANY 
PRINTERS  BOSTON 


Go,  Little  Book,  speed  off  with  "fleeting  thought," 
Which  in  the  passing  seemed  but  whisperings  caught ; 
And  now  we  ask  to  have  you  bear  away 
Another  whisper !    Be  it  yours  to  say — 
Your  sales  will  carry  help  to  those  great  needs 
For  whom  our  Red  Cross  hourly  intercedes ; 
Those  Braves  who  bear  our  Flag  so  far  afield. 
God  grant  they  bring  it  back !    Nor  ever  yield 
Till  with  the  warring  Nations  of  the  Earth 
A  Peace — God-riven — finds  never-ending  birth. 

Please  buy  me,  Sir !    Dear  Madam  kind — or  Merry  Maid ! 
To  do  "my  bit"  I'm  "bound"  to  sell  as  Red  Cross  Aid. 


DEDICATION 

In  collecting  in  book  form  my 

"THOUGHTS  AS  THEY  CAME" 

Am  carrying  out — though  most  tardily 

An  oft-expressed  wish  of 

MY  MOTHER 
To  whose  memory  they  are  lovingly  dedicated 


PREFACE 


PREFACE 

Could  we  but  bridge  that  mystic  Life-Stream  over, 
And  hazy  Past  with  this  our  Present  blend, 
Well  do  I  know  she'd  feel  a  thrill  of  pleasure, 
And  all  defects — though  great  and  without  measure- 
With  tender  veiling  she  would  gently  cover, 
The  veil  of  Mother-Love,  that  knows  no  end. 


[5] 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


OPPOSITE  PAGI 

GREAT  GRANITE  GATEWAY     ....        FRONTISPIECE 

A  HOUSEHOLD  FRIEND  BOTH  TRIED  AND  TRUE       .        .  15 

LESSONS  OF  CHILDHOOD  .......  34 

LOOKING  BACKWARD 39 

A  WONDROUS  SCHEME  IN  STONE 56 

NOT  "GOOD-BY!"  ONLY  "Au  REVOIR!"        ...  68 

SMILES  ARE  NOT  ALL  IN  VAIN 75 

AT  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 77 

HONOR  TO  THEE!  GREAT  MOTHER  OF  THE  WORLD!      .  84 

A  LORDLY  WHITE  WING         ......  88 

A  SOFT,  RIVERED  VALLEY 90 

ONLY  THE  BIRDS  TO  TELL  THE  STORY  Now    .        .         .  95 

INTERIOR  GLOUCESTER  CATHEDRAL         .        .        .        .  99 

AN  OLD  DUTCH  HEAD 100 

HOLLAND  BEAUTIES 102 

THE  "WEE  FOLKS"  OF  THE  ZUYDERZEE        ...  105 

CATHEDRAL  OF  ST.  ETIENNE 107 

CARLO  DOLCI'S  MADONNA  OF  THE  THUMB    ...  109 

IN  THE  VALE  OF  GRINDELWALD 120 

A  LITTLE  SPOT,  WELL-SHADED  O'ER  WITH  GREEN         .  123 

MONARCHS  OF  THE  LAKE 130 

DREAM-LIKE,  ARCADIAN  SCENE      ....  135 

AND  LIFE!  WHAT  Is  IT?  WHERE  ITS  CARE  AND  FEAR?  141 

THE  TAJ  MAHAL 156 

FAVORITE  QUEEN  OF  SHAH  JAHAN         ....  159 


[6] 


CONTENTS 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


VIVE  LA  FRANCE    .... 

ODE  TO  THE  NEW  YEAR  .     . 

OUR  GRANDFATHER'S  CLOCK 

WHEN  MISCHA  ELMAN 
PLAYED  

OUR  DREAMS 

THE  BALL  OF  THE  FINE 
ARTS 

To  C.  K 

To  H.  F.  K 

A  SALUTARY  FIRM     .     .     . 

A  FIRESIDE  REVERIE  .     .     . 

HEARTS 

"Gooo  NIGHT!"   .     .     .     . 

YULETIDE 

MAVOURNEEN 

"GRANDMOTHER'S  BIBLE"  . 

SPRING-TIME 

MEMORY  BELLS     .... 

WORDS  UNSPOKEN     .     .     . 

CALLING  AT  THE  HOME 
STEAD  

A  CORNER  IN  NEW  YORK    . 

ON  LEAVING  THE  CITY  FOR 
ROXBURY,  CONNECTICUT  . 

DAWN  AMONG  THE  HlLLS  . 

MID-SUMMER  DAYS  IN 

LlTCHFIELD,     NEW    ENG 
LAND       

A  SECOND  NATIONAL  HOLI 
DAY  VISIT  TO  LAKE  WA- 
RAMANG,  CONNECTICUT  .. 

AUTO  DAYS  IN  THE  WHITE 
MOUNTAINS  . 


PAGE 

9 
ii 

12 

15 

I? 

18 

21 

24 
25 
27 

29 
30 
30 
31 

33 

36 
38 
38 

39 
42 

44 
46 


PAGE 
53 


49 
50 

[7 


THE  OTTAUQUECHEE    .     . 
THE  CON  GRESSIONAL 

LIBRARY 56 

APPOMATTOX 58 

THOUGHTS    SUGGESTED   AT 

GETTYSBURG 60 

OUR  SUNNY  SOUTH  ...  63 

REAL  FOLKS 65 

A  WESTERN  PORTAL  ...  70 
SNOQUALMIE    FALLS, 

WASHINGTON     ....  71 
ON  A  PROLONGED  STAY  AT 

THE  P.  P.  I.  E.  OF  1915  .  74 
As  THE  PAST  COMES  FLOOD 
ING  IN  AND  THE  CHRIST 
MAS  CHIMES  BEGIN    .     .  80 
A  TRIBUTE  TO  "THE  RED 

CROSS" 84 

A  MID-OCEAN  MARCONI- 
GRAM     86 

THE    WELCOME    OF    THE 

GULLS 87 

THE  LITTLE  GREEN  ISLE    .  88 

THE  PRICE  OF  A  HORSE  .     .  90 

INNISFALLEN 92 

THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY    .  93 

MELROSE  ABBEY     ....  94 

THE  KNIGHTWOOD  TREE    .  97 

CATHEDRAL  ORGAN  ECHOES  99 

HOLLAND 100 

To  S.  S 106 

AN  HOUR  WITH  THE  VENUS 

DE  MILO no 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

LUXEMBOURG  GARDENS  AND 

GALLERY    .     .     .•     .     .     .  112 

THE  Swiss  STATION  SIGNAL  1 16 

LAUTERBRUNNEN  .     .     .     .  117 

A  CORNER  IN  LUCERNE  .     .  122 
Two  NIGHTS  ON  THE  Sus- 

TEN  PASS 124 

THE  SWANS  OF  GENEVA     .  129 

Swiss  BELLS 130 

FIVE  A.M.  IN  THE  MOUN 
TAINS    132 

THE  LEVANT 133 

BELLAGIO 135 

ON  THE  SUMMIT  OF  MONTE 

GENEROSO 136 

DREAMING  IN  VENICE    .     .  140 

ROME 143 

THE  BAY  OF  NAPLES  FROM 

SORRENTO 145 

TAORMINA 148 

THE  SANDS  OF  THE  DESERT  151 
THE  AFTERGLOW  AS  SEEN 

AT  BOMBAY 153 

THE  BELLSOF  SHWEDAGON  154 

A  SYMPHONY  IN  MARBLE  .  158 

ON  THE  IRRAWADDY  .     .     .  159 

ON  LEAVING  CEYLON     .     .  161 

SUMMER  SEAS 162 

THE  NEW  THOUGHT     .     .  163 

MEMORIES 165 

WHO  CAN  ANSWER?      .     .  166 

A  THANKSGIVING  ODE  .     .  169 

WHICH? 171 

NEVER  AGAIN 172 

THE  BIRD  CALL     ....  175 

A  PRAYER 177 


PAGE 

GROWTH 179 

THE  CALL  OF  THE  CHINESE 

WOMEN 180 

REMINDERS 182 

THE  KNOWN  AND  THE  UN 
KNOWN      183 

THE  RIFT  IN  THE  CLOUD  .  184 

LAND-LOCKED 185 

THE  BETTER  WAY      .     .     .  187 

WHERE,  How,  AND  WHEN  ?  188 

GOD  BLESS  You!   ....  189 

THE  CALL  OF  THE  ORIENT  190 
To   ONE    NEARING   "THE 

OTHER  SIDE"     .     .     .     .  191 

A  WAYSIDE  THOUGHT  .     .  193 

THE  RECALL 194 

OUR  JANE 196 

WE  Two 197 

WHEN  THE  SHADOWS  FADE 

AWAY 198 

THECALL  OF  THE  INFINITE  199 

LIFE'S  QUERIES     ....  202 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  PAST  .     .  203 
WHERE   THE   LIGHTS   ARE 

DIMMED 206 

WAITING       207 

HEARTSEASE 208 

? 209 

THE  CALL  TO  ARMS  .     .     .  210 

THE  CHIMES  OF  CORNELL  .  214 

YALE 216 

SOME  OTHER  WAY     .     .     .  218 

KEEP  IT  WAVING  ....  220 

THE  UNVEILING  OF  TRUTH  221 

ADDENDUM 224 


[8] 


VIVE     LA     FRANCE 


VIVE  LA  FRANCE 

How  changed  is  the  scene  since  the  first  tap  of  drum 

Came  with  echo-like  stir  of  a  Nation's  unrest ! 

So  far  its  vibrations  from  lands  we  call  home — 

With  miles  upon  miles  of  a  big  Ocean's  crest 

Spread  between  our  own  shores  and  that  war's  angry  zone. 

A  big  Ocean's  crest !    Aye !    A  treacherous  Main  ! 
Yet  a  million  have  crossed  as  on  Mid-Summer  stream. 
Where  Under-Sea  Vampires  lurk,  waiting  their  game — 
The  big  ships  go  laden — again — and  again— 
While  A  God  over  All  is  still  Ruler-Supreme. 

To  the  sound  so  prolonged  of  their  bugle  and  drum, 
Our  Boys  have  responded  with  courage  and  brawn, 
The  response  forsooth  greater  and  swifter  to  come — 
An  achievement  colossal !    And  not  to  be  done 
By  aught  than  the  "kultured"  Omnipotent (  ?)  Hun! 

[9] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

So  he  thought !    But  Our  Boys !    Columbia's  Boys ! 
We  owe  them  a  debt  we  can  never  repay ! 
They  are  fighting  for  us !    Lest  invader  destroys 
Columbia's  Standard  and  falls  in  the  fray ! 
A  weakling  to  tyrant !    To  outlaw  a  prey. 

God  pity  the  aged — the  maiden — or  babe 

Who  crosses  the  path  of  such  venom  and  lust ! 

"  Forgive  and  forget ! "    'Twas  the  Master  forgave — 

We,  alas,  are  so  human  !    Forget?    Is  it  just? 

Where  compacts  are  paper  in  scraps — can  we  trust? 

There's  a  healer  of  wounds,  we  are  told — it  is  Time ! 

Can  it  cover  atrocities  hellish  and  needless  ? 

And  wipe  out  great  volumes  of  blackness  and  crime? 

To  forgive — we  would  ask — May  the  Great  God  be  nigh  us! 

Such  crimes  to  forget — Unabridged — as  to  Time. 

******* 

But  we're  proud  of  Our  Laddies !    God  speed  them  to  win ! 
And  proud  of  Our  Lassies — who  rose  in  their  might ! 
So  keen  to  fall  in — where  the  Laddies  had  been ; 
Thus  vacancies  spreading. — These  promptly  stepped  in, 
Releasing  the  Laddies  to  fight  for  the  Right. 

[10] 


ODE    TO    THE    NEW    YEAR 


Aye!    Proud  of  Our  Laddies!    Our  fine,  stalwart  Boys! 
Whose  home  is  the  trenches !    Whose  lives  go  for  us 
In  a  land  we  adore !    Alas !  war-worn  and  sore ! 
By  fierce  battles  torn  and  soaked  deep  in  men's  gore! 
But  ever  historical,  beautiful  France. 

We  mourn  for  her  ruins !    We  grieve  for  her  dead  ! 
For  the  Lands  and  her  Art  she  has  long  fought  to  save ! 
For  her  Temples  laid  waste,  reared  in  glory  to  God ! 
For  the  great  and  heroic  self-sacrifice  made. 
For  France  and  her  People !    We  cry  in  one  voice, 
Long  Life,  Grand  Republic !    Aye !    Five  la  France! 


ODE  TO  THE  NEW  YEAR 

Ring  out  the  old,  and  ring  in  the  new! 
Ring  out  the  false,  and  ring  in  the  true ! 
Ring  out  the  old  thought  of  grief  and  despair — 
Ring  in — and  live — in  the  Great  Father's  care. 
Ring  in  the  friends,  whether  old  friends  or  new; 
Ring  in  the  hearts,  which  are  loving  and  true! 

[n] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

Look  toward  the  sun,  till  it  sleeps  in  the  West ; 

Then  turning,  look  straight  towards  its  dawn  in  the  East. 

Lose  not  of  sunshine  one  life-giving  ray ; 

Its  warmth  and  its  brightness  hold  balm  for  each  day ! 

Gather  each  sunbeam  which  crosses  your  road  ! 

Gather — and  hold! — it  will  lighten  life's  load. 

Sunbeams,  like  chances,  will  fain  fade,  alas ! 
If  sadly  our  eyes  are  tight  closed  as  they  pass. 
Ring  out  the  Old  then,  and  ring  in  the  New ! 
Ring  in  a  Year  full  of  purposes  true ! 
Ring  in  the  Truth !    On  each  ear  may  it  fall ! 
Ring  in — and  ever  ring  — "  God  bless  us  all ! " 


OUR  GRANDFATHER'S  CLOCK 

Come !  all  sit  round,  and  fold  your  hands,  my  dears ; 
And  let  me  tell  you  of  my  checkered  life ! 

My  hands  are  tied,  and  have  been,  through  long  years- 
Two  Centuries! — while  you  with  youth  are  rife. 

[12] 


OUR     GRAXDFATHER     S     CLOCK 

I've  watched  the  crocus  lift  its  baby  head, 

And  listened  to  the  New  Year's  merry  chimes ; 

I've  watched  the  early  robin's  rapid  tread, 

And  Autumn's  flight  of  wings  to  Summer  climes. 

I've  watched  the  rainbow  span  the  Summer  sky, 
I've  seen  the  sumac  don  its  coat  of  red ; 

I've  heard  the  chill  winds  whisper,  "Winter  nigh"  ; 
I've  seen  the  forest  trees  with  hoar-frost  spread. 

I've  watched  the  sturdy  man  from  boyhood  grown, 
Aye !  from  the  birth  I've  heard  his  baby  cheer! 

I've  noted  with  a  sigh  old  age  creep  on, 
And  wept,  as  others  wept,  around  his  bier. 

I've  seen  the  blushing  maid  of  sweet  sixteen — 

Reflecting  beauty  as  the  stars  above; 
I've  seen  her  sway  her  lover's  heart,  as  queen ! 

Her  children's  children  beam  with  Mother-love. 

On  life's  great  stage,  I've  seen  vast  numbers  play: 
Play  their  parts  well — or  ill — then  pass  along 

Into  the  quiet,  found  their  shadowy  way, 
While  I  a  requiem  tick  for  all  those  gone. 

[13] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


I've  known  home  secrets — all  the  hopes  and  fears — 
The  laughter  joined,  in  joyous  sounding  strain; 

And  when,  around  me,  others  shed  heart  tears, 
I've  simply  sobbed  a  quiet,  sad  refrain. 

I've  heard  strange  stories  of  a  Summer  day, 
Of  how  arose  the  widespread  wish  to  roam  ; 

And  how  from  England's  coast  they  sailed  away, 
And  sought  to  find  on  Western  shores  a  home. 

I've  listened  to  your  sires  tell  fairy  tales, 

With  wide-eyed  urchin  perched  upon  the  knee ; 

Of  how  for  months  they  tossed,  with  flapping  sails, 
To  reach  a  far-off  point  beyond  the  sea. 

They'd  tell  of  fighting — not  in  modern  ways — 
'Tis  carnage  now — on  land  and  sea,  alas ! 

No  submarines  nor  gatlings  in  those  days ! 

Now,  smiling  youth  and  age  are  mown  like  grass. 

All  these  I've  seen  so  oft' — and  oft'  again  — 
The  while  I  kept  my  steady-going  face  ; 

While  seasons  came  and  went,  in  natural  train, 
I've  filled  my  listening,  old,  time-giving  place. 

[14] 


"And  11011;  today,  I  stand  as  jinn  us  rock! 

And  for  your  children's  children  —  /'/  you  TC//'  — 
/'//  tick  nyht  on — your  011-11  old  family  clock- — 
I 'tilth j til  my  good-time  mtssion  to  fulfill' 


WHEN     MISCHA     ELMAN     PLAYED 

And  now,  today,  I  stand  as  firm  as  rock ! 

And  for  your  children's  children — if  you  will- 
Ill  tick  right  on — your  own  old  family  clock — 

Faithful  my  good-time  mission  to  fulfill. 

Proud  of  my  length  of  days,  my  Centuries ! 

Loyal  through  youth,  through  age,  to  all  of  you ! 
Proud  of  you,  dears !  so  linked  with  memories, 

And  from  my  very  heart — my  mainspring — true. 


WHEN  MISCHA  ELMAN  PLAYED 

Like  note  of  bird  ascending, 

Or  hues  at  sunset  blending ; 

Like  harmony  extending,  far  and  away — 

Seeming  our  Earth-bonds  cleaving, 

Seeming  to  Spirit  yielding, 

Motionless !    Scarcely  breathing, 

We  think  'tis  the  Angels  say — 

"Ave  Maria!" 


THOUGHTS    AS     THEY    CAME 


So  softly  the  notes  come  nearer, 

Plaintively,  tenderly,  clearer, 

Then  faintly — and  off — and  away — 

"Ave  Maria!" 

One  thinks  of  a  Penitent  kneeling, 
A  Soul  to  the  God-Mother  pleading; 
And  soft — like  to  twilight  a-stealing — 

It  sighs  and  it  dies, 

As  the  Soul  cleaves  the  skies. 
But  we  catch  a  sweet  "Ave  Maria," 
And  the  Angels  seem  nearer  and  nearer, 
Their  chant  coming  clearer  and  clearer — 

"Ave  Maria!" 

One  can  hear  by  the  seraph-like  singing, 
How  the  cloudlets  are  gleefully  ringing 
With  echoings  tender!  Soul-thrilling! 

"Ave  Maria!" 

**####< 

Lights  dimmed,  and  the  outer  doors  closing, 
We  linger  awhile,  scarcely  knowing 
How  far — and  away — we  were  soaring 

[16] 


OUR     DREAMS 


Mid  scenes  that  were  fair, 

Catching  tones  in  mid-air, 
Which  held  us  entranced  as  by  magic. 
And  now,  from  that  "somewhere"  seraphic, 
Comes  back — like  a  whisper  angelic — 

"Ave  Maria!" 


OUR  DREAMS 

What  of  our  dreams — our  wanderings  in  the  night? 

What  of  our  walks,  and  talks,  that  seem  so  true  ? 
And  are  they  ?    Who  from  among  us  has  the  right 

To  say  we  rest — as  seemeth — all  night  through  ? 

Some  one — and  we  agree  with  him — who  said — 
In  truth — "things  are  not  always  what  they  seem"; 

And  so,  with  sleep's  strange  mantle  o'er  us  spread, 
These  walks,  and  talks,  may  not  be  all  a  dream. 

What  if,  when  wearied  at  the  close  of  day, 

We  lay  us  down,  night's  draught  of  rest  to  take  — 

Then  leaving  form  in  peace — we  flit  away, 
And — like  a  birdling  from  his  cage — escape. 

[17] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

What  if  we  walk,  and  talk,  and  live  apart 
From  the  enclosure  which  we  call  ourselves? 

The  outer  casing,  not  the  inner  heart 
Or  Ego — in  which  the  real  self  dwells. 

What  if  this  Ego — wandering  far  afield  — 
Returns  to  where  its  body  sleeping  seems, 

And  in  the  morn's  awaking  be  revealed 

The  night's  real  wanderings,  which  we  call  our  dreams? 


THE  BALL  OF  THE  FINE  ARTS 

GIVEN    BY 

THE  SOCIETY  OF  BEAUX  ARTS  ARCHITECTS 

Backward  the  wheels  of  Time  rolled  for  a  space, 
And  outside  din  to  every  sense  was  closed  ; 

One  wished  all  portals  barred,  lest  aught  efface 
The  rhythm  of  the  wondrous  scene  disclosed. 

[18] 


THE     BALL     OF     THE     FINE     ARTS 


What  were  past  Centuries  now,  and  whither  sped  ? 

Where — if  not  here?    All  halting  for  the  night; 
Without — one  knew  the  Twentieth  Century  led 

Its  scurrying  crowd,  but  here ! — what  glittering  sight ! 

What  gorgeous  pageant  moves  in  regal  ways ; 

Forms,  in  gay  costumes  rare,  enhance  a  scene 
Made  like  to  Venice  in  her  former  days, 

When  age  of  Venice  marked  the  Byzantine. 

As  if  within  some  huge  kaleidoscope, 

Each  human  here  had  found  its  costumed  way, 

And  all  unconscious  of  the  hourly  stroke, 
In  medieval  days,  content  to  stay. 

Monks,  Nuns,  and  Bishops,  Cardinals  and  Doge ; 

The  train  of  Empress,  borne  by  glittering  page. 
In  varied  hues — and  unobtrusive  robe — 

Strolled  gondolier  and  old-time  classic  sage. 

Poets  and  artists — Raphael-capped  and  gowned  — 
Made  telling  background  for  the  cloth  of  gold 

Whose  brilliant  folds  caught  up  the  lights  around, 
And  hung  resplendent  as  some  grandee  strolled. 

[19] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

Through  Middle  Ages  passed  this  Pageant  on, 
And  in  the  coloring  of  the  Renaissance 

A  Botticelli  and  a  Titian  form 

Come  back  as  if  from  out  a  long-time  trance. 

Such  intermingling !    Such  revival  here ! 

A  flood  of  richness!  as  if  second  birth 
Were  granted  all  The  Arts  to  reappear 

And  congregate  again  upon  this  earth. 

Oh,  but  to  hold  this  night !    Retard  the  morn  ! 

Could  but  the  stars  outshine  all  matin  rays — 
For  with  the  stir  and  glow  of  spreading  dawn 

Must  close  this  night  of  Old  Venetian  Days. 

Days  when  her  wealth  was  felt  upon  the  seas, 
When  brush  and  palette  told  of  Art  supreme  ; 

When  Artists  cut,  and  left  in  stone  their  dreams, 
And  Venice  ruled  as  Adriatic's  Queen. 


[20] 


TO     C.    K, 


TO  C.  K. 

Will  you  listen  to  my  story  as  the  twilight  fades  away, 

And  the  starlets  in  their  glory,  twinkling,  tell  they've  come  to  stay  ? 

Come  to  glimmer  and  to  shimmer  through  the  night's  dark-mantled 

hours, 
Till  they're  chased  away  at  day-dawn  by  the  Day-Queen's  roseate 

powers. 

We'll  just  draw  the  curtains  gently,  and  will  leave  the  stars  to  shine, 
While  you  listen  most  intently  to  this  little  tale  of  mine ; 
Draw  your  chairs  a  wee  bit  closer,  while  we  stir  the  fire  anew— 
'Tis  so  cozy  thus  to  listen  to  a  story  strictly  true. 

'Twas  far  back !    Among  the  bygones!    In  the  hazy  days  of  yore, 
When  the  Yuletide  found  a  Grouping  on  a  sun-bathed  foreign  shore ; 
'Twas  a  group  of  questioning  Aliens,  doubting  much  if  mirth  could  be ! 
The  Fete  Noel  so  near  at  hand,  and  "Home"  beyond  the  sea. 


[21] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

Off — beyond  long  miles  of  ocean !  where  the  days,  both  soft  and  clear, 

Seldom  wrapped  in  snow's  white  mantle,  giving  sharp,  crisp  atmos 
phere. 

The  sun,  high  here,  and  fair  the  blooms,  and  soft  the  scented  air; 

Mid-Winter's  frost  no  mastery  holds,  why  not  "Home-Christmas" 
here? 

Why  not  make  "A  Merry  Christmas"  for  the  children  near  at  hand? 

They,  like  ourselves,  hold  memories  of  a  far-off  Fatherland. 

Our  Boys — that  now  to  manhood  grown — had  dreams  of  Christmas 

Tree! 
Each  thought  his  sanctum  proper  place,  and  thus  it  chanced  to  be  — 

That  one  great,  lordly  Tree  took  form,  in  setting  free  to  all ; 
No  child  o'erlooked! — each  one  arose  to  Santa's  generous  call. 
Such  happiness!    For  them — and  us!  to  us,  perhaps,  the  more, 
Since  some,  among  those  little  ones,  knew  no  like-mirth  before. 

'Twas  Christmas,  with  rare  Christmas  treat!  pleasure  without  sur 
cease  ! 

We  wrap  it  round  with  memories  sweet — that  Christmas  Day  in  Nice. 
E'en  now  those  little  faces  come  again,  and  seem  to  cast 
Joyous,  beaming  eyes  upon  us — through  the  vista  of  the  Past. 


[22] 


g($g  TO     C.     K. 

Now,  after  years  have  rolled  away,  another  Fete  has  come, 
A  Natal  Fete  to  celebrate,  and  we,  again,  from  home. 
That  little  group  again  is  grouped ;  not  all !    Some  change  has  come. 
Most  of  them  answer  "Present"  tonight.    Missing?    We  whisper, 
"One." 

A  silence  falls,  as  Memory  fond  brings  back  that  loved  one  gone : 

She  lives,  we  know,  in  the  Great  Beyond,  and  that  Life  moves  on  — 

and  on. 

And  we  feel  in  the  quiet  that  fills  the  room,  as  silently  falls  a  tear, 
Perhaps  from  the  realms  above  may  come  her  presence — her  love  and 

cheer. 


The  Birthday  now !    A  Greeting  warm 
To  one  with  added  birthday  morn ! 
Long  may  she  live  and  happy  be ! 
Long  may  her  fondest  memory 
Recall  both  Nice  and  Christmas  Tree, 
Et  aujourd'hui  en  ce  gai  Paris! 


[23] 


THOUGHTS     AS      THEY     CAME 


TO  H.  F.  K. 

ON  THE  PRESENTATION  OF  A  PEWTER  TRAY 

When  you're  thinking  and  you're  planning  how  to  change  the  "  triste" 

to  " 'gat" 

Pray  don't  let  a  passing  garland  slip  your  thought,  and  get  away ! 
Hang  it  lightly  on  a  Cornice,  with  Cartouches  here  and  there — 
You  will  please  Monsieur,  the  Frenchman,  though  yourself  be  in 

despair. 

Coax  some  coy  and  sprightly  Cupids  on  your  pediment  to  stay ! 
Pin  them  down!  perhaps  a  score  or  more — erstwise  they'll  flit  away; 
Make  the  whole  facade  a  r'ideau,  well  bedecked  with  florets  rare. 
Smiling  faces!    Supple  figures!    All  astir  in  high  mid-air. 

Whether  school,  or  tomb,  or  what-not,  let  the  decoration  show 
That  you've  learned  to  balance  Cupids  on  a  pirouetting  toe ! 
Then  some  day  will  come  the  question,  in  the  swift,  advancing  years — 
"See   that  Tomb?"    "How  well   defined   the  Thought  of   smiling 
through  one's  tears!" 

[24] 


A     SALUTARY     FIRM 


"And  that  Library  Building  yonder !  where  from  entrance  up  to  dome. 
Every  surface  inch  is  decor e!  'tis  "Learning  wrought  in  Stone!" 
"  Fine  specimen !    Good  Architect ! "    "  Give  me  the  name,  I  pray ! " 
"Oh!    He's  a  Harvard-Beaux  Arts  man!    Monsieur  H.  F.  K." 

Then  bid  begone  the  " triste,"  Man  Cher!    Ton  jours!    Tou  jours  the 

"gal"  I 

Toujours  les  crayons  mettre  upon  this  little  pewter  tray. 
Then  when  Pro  jet'  hangs  a  finished,  architectural  symphonic — 
Et  vous  pouvez  dire  heureusement.    "  Oui!    C'est  mail  bien  fini!" 

When  the  midnight  oil  is  burning,  ere  the  earliest  dawn  of  day, 

Pray,  then,  rest  the  idle  crayons  on  this  little  Pewter  Tray; 

And  bid  begone  the  "triste,"  Mon  Cher!    Toujours!    Toujours  the 

"  gai"  ! 
Toujours  les  crayons  mettre  upon  this  little  Pewter  Tray. 


A  SALUTARY  FIRM 

With  temper  and  patience  both  greatly  admonished, 
Fine  clothing  dispensed  with  and  tipping  abolished, 
A  "Tour  round  the  World"  would  resolve  into  this — 
An  earthly  condition  of  infinite  bliss! 

[25] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME  &F(2g 

ttxv^D 

Two  principal  aids  in  bestowal  of  pleasure  — 
To  whom  should  be  praise  without  stint,  and  sans  measure — 
Are  brave  "Tommy  Atkins,"  who  stoutly  has  fought, 
And  "T.  Cook  &  Sons,"  who  great  marvels  have  wrought. 

"To  Arms!"  is  the  order,  and  "Tommy"  advances! 
By  power  of  his  gun,  he  the  native  entrances ! 
Then  order  and  discipline  go  hand  in  hand, 
And  guaranteed  safety  results  in  the  land. 

Shortly  Cook — the  Invincible! — opens  an  office, 
Supplies  all  your  needs,  though  not  yet  quite  for  gratis ! 
He'll  ship  you  by  steamer !    Conduct  you  by  rail ! 
He  will  cash  all  your  checks  and  attend  to  your  mail. 

He'll  do  all  that  is  needed  to  send  you  around  — 

After  "Tommy"  has  captured  both  native  and  ground. 

To  them  both,  "Hearty  Thanks!"    We're  again  on  home  shore, 

Where,  dearer  by  far  to  our  hearts  than  before, 

We  take  off  our  hats  to  "Old  Glory"  once  more. 


[26] 


A     FIRESIDE     REVERIE 


A  FIRESIDE  REVERIE 

In  the  quiet — resting — dreaming — by  the  fireside's  evening  glow, 
How  the  embers  flame  and  flicker,  as  sweet  memories  come  and  go. 
Memories  come — and  faces  linger  in  the  passing  to  and  fro — 
Memories  all  one's  own  !    So  sacred,  none  may  ever  share  or  know ! 

Not  a  footstep  breaks  the  stillness !    All  the  house  wrapped  in  repose ; 
Under  soothing  spell  of  Morpheus,  midnight  hush  impressive  grows. 
So  we  sit — and  muse — and  linger  with  the  memories  so  dear, 
Till  the  crackle  of  the  timber  sounds  like  voices  of  good  cheer. 

Now  they  steal  upon  us  softly,  now  they  come  with  boisterous  shout — 
As  the  flames  dart  up  so  deftly,  then  flash  fiercely  in  and  out. 
Hissing — crackling — bringing  pictures  as  the  great  logs,  in  their  turn, 
For  a  moment  warm  the  shadows  into  brightness,  as  they  burn. 

Sitting  thus — so  quiet — dreaming — faces  gone  come  stealing  in. 
Flames  take  on  such  curious  seeming — panoramas  pass  within. 
Little  flames  bring  baby  faces — little  children  hard  at  play, 
Year  on  year  of  childhood  passes — still  we  dream,  and  still  we  stay. 

[27] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME  &Wg 
§>\Ks 

For  we  love  to  hear  their  laughter  that  rang  full  in  days  agone, 
When  the  romping  and  the  banter  and  the  merry  games  went  on ; 
And  the  elders  gathered  nightly  round  the  central-table  light, 
For  the  play-hour  of  the  children,  e'er  they  kissed  and  said  "Good 

Night." 

Happy  hours!    So  bright  and  gleeful!    All  were  young  folks  for  the 

time! 
Grandma  e'en — with  heart  so  youthful,  scarcely  looked  she  in  her 

prime. 

Aye !  but  stealthy  years  keep  creeping,  boys  and  girls  all  grow  apace, 
E'en  the  little  dark-eyed  sister — she  with  curls  and  sunny  face. 

******* 

Here  the  embers  flame  from  stirring,  romping  children  last  were  seen ; 
Now  the  little  sister  standing,  changed  from  child  to  maiden — queen  — 
Veiled,  and  in  her  bridal  garments,  she — the  first  to  go  away. 
Oh!  we  revel  in  these  moments!  precious  pictures!  and  we  stay— 

And  we  stir  the  drowsy  embers,  lay  a  log,  and  wait  the  flames  ; 
'Tis  a  night  in  cool  November — or  it  was!  for  midnight  wanes — 
As  we  see  the  Boy  departing,  leaving  home,  perhaps  for  years. 
And  we  feel  the  old  heartaching,  but  we  stifle  back  the  tears— 

[28] 


HEARTS                                                      STOg 
§>v^) 

As  we  see  him  with  his  laurels,  and  the  table  richly  spread, 
And  the  eager,  anxious  waiting  for  that  well-known  manly  tread. 
And  he  comes !    With  eyes  a-glistening !  for  the  work  was  not  in  vain  ; 
Every  loving  heart  is  throbbing  for  the  Boy — now  home  again. 

Oh,  the  Embers !    How  we  stir  them !  we  would  stir  them  till  the  dawn ! 
We  would  stop  the  tell-tale  dial !  we  would  back  the  coming  morn ! 
We  would  let  the  flames  keep  showing  pictures  loved  in  lurid  glows — 
But  the  flickering  and  expiring  tell  the  embers  fast  are  dying, 
And  the  fireside  reverie  closed. 


HEARTS 

Hearts  are  not  toys — nor  are  they  balls,  to  toss! 
One  cannot  play  with  hearts,  without  a  loss ; 
Throbbing  with  love,  with  life — to  joy  so  keen- 
Their  longings  oft'-times  hid  in  depths  unseen  ; 
The  sacred  precinct  of  your  life  and  mine, 
The  Great  Creator's  sacred,  living  Shrine ! 
Why  bruise  it,  then  ?  why  doom  it  to  despair  ? 
Why  pick  it  up,  to  drop — anon — elsewhere? 
Why  try  its  warmth — or  feel  its  throbs  at  all  — 
If  you  would  toss  it — like  a  lifeless  ball? 
[29] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

"GOOD  NIGHT!" 

The  God  of  Sleep  draws  near.    "Good  night,"  dear  Heart! 

Sleep  well !  and  waken  not,  save  with  the  lark ! 

Let  thy  soft  eyelids  fall !  closed  be  thy  sight 

Till  morn  has  risen,  and  kissed  away  the  night. 

Happy,  thrice  happy,  be  the  roseate  dreams 

Which  lead  thee  wandering  through  fair,  sunlit  scenes — 

Perchance  a-Maying!    Then,  from  blossomed  tree — 

May  Blossom-Thought  fall  down  on  thee — of  me. 

"Good  night,"  dear  Heart!   "good  night." 


YULETIDE 

Let  us  try  !  you  and  I ! 

Let  us  keep  alive  the  spirit ! 

Guard  the  love  and  good  will  in  it ! 

Keep  the  Yuletide  green  and  cheery, 

And  its  preparation  merry  ; 

Let  it  never,  never  die! 

Keep  our  Yuletide  fresh  for  aye ! 

[30] 


MAVOURNEEN 


Let  us  try !  you  and  I ! 
What  though  pessimists  deride ! 
Let  our  Christmas-love  abide ! 
They,  and  we,  are  moving  on, 
Father  Time  will  wait  for  none. 
Seasons  come,  and  seasons  go  — 
Hold  we  fast  the  old-time  glow! 

Fire  an  ember  each  December! 
Bring  in  holly,  green  and  red ! 
Hang  the  mistletoe  o'erhead ! 
Trim  and  light  the  Christmas  Tree! 
Hang  a  "Thought"  for  you  and  me! 
Down  the  Past,  let  centuries  glide — 
But  hold  fast  our  Christmas-tide! 


MAVOURNEEN 

The  eyes  you  thought  starlight,  yet  soft  and  gazelle-like, 
In  luster  are  waning,  my  darling!  'tis  true! 

Yet  still  there's  a  heart-beam,  a  ne'er-dying  love-gleam, 
And,  darling!  'tis  beaming  entirely  for  you. 

[31] 


THOUGHTS    AS     THEY    CAME  §$fl& 

—§*& 

Cheeks  once  full  of  health-glow — with  tints  of  the  peach-blow— 
Have  lost  of  their  roundness  and  sweet  girlish  hue ; 

Still  lingers  a  warm  hint  of  long-ago  blush-tint — 
When  listening  to  love  words,  my  darling !  from  you. 

The  voice  once  so  mellow,  so  richly  soprano, 

Is  shorn  of  its  freshness  and  melody  too ; 
Yet  often,  in  low  refrain,  live  tones  of  youth  again, 

Echoing,  my  darling !  to  none  but  to  you. 

Youth's  ardent  emotion,  and  love's  deep  devotion, 

Found  vent  in  a  heart  ever  constant  and  true ! 
'Tis  still  young,  my  darling!    And  what  need  of  telling — 

Its  every  vibration  is  beating  for  you. 

'Tis  the  heart  that  keeps  green,  Love !   And  fresh  as  the  turf,  Love ! 

Though  years  throw  the  mantle  of  change  o'er  us  two ; 
When  Earth's  ties  we  sunder,  and  hearts  beat  up  yonder, 

Then  mine,  your  mavourneen's !  will  still  beat  for  you. 

They  say — we  live  ever,  that  Life  endeth  never, 

We  only  sail  over  what's  known  as  Death  Sea ; 
I'm  praying,  my  darling!  our  boats  in  the  mooring 

May  find  the  same  haven — for  you  and  for  me. 

[32] 


"GRANDMOTHER'S    BIBLE" 


"GRANDMOTHER'S  BIBLE" 

Dear  Grandmother's  Bible,  and  well  we  remember 
How  often  we've  looked,  as  she  quietly  sat, 

With  glasses  adjusted,  and  forefinger  pointed 
To  wrords  of  her  life-book,  that  laid  on  her  lap. 

The  old  lady's  readings  were  "morning  devotions," 
And  time  and  again  had  she  read  her  books  through ; 

One  chapter  a  day  from  the  Old  Bible  portions, 
A  hymn,  and  a  chapter,  or  so,  from  the  New. 

All  through  the  old  Copy  we  find  pencil  tracings, 
Encircling  the  verses  most  dear  to  her  heart — 

She  loved  all  its  teachings,  and  lived  by  its  precepts ; 
They  formed  of  her  every-day  life-work  a  part. 

Ah !  never  wras  spirit  more  fitted  for  Heaven 

Than  Grandmother's  spirit  when  God  took  her  home 

So  tender  and  loving,  so  true  and  forgiving, 

She  seemed  of  Earth's  dross  and  all  selfishness  shorn. 

[33] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


Her  Bible!  we  all  knew  it  well,  and  we  loved  it, 
For  Grandmother  taught  us  its  worth  by  her  side ; 

So  often  we'd  heard  from  her  lips  the  old  story, 

From  Bethlehem's  Babe  to  the  Christ  when  He  died. 

Her  children  had  stood  there,  and  learned  the  sweet  lesson 
Of  patience  and  mercy,  of  life,  love,  and  truth ; 

Then  years  sped  away,  and  these,  children  no  longer. 
Had  gone,  in  the  journey  of  life,  beyond  youth. 

They,  also,  were  parents,  and  four  happy  wee  ones 
Were  ready  our  Grandmother's  fondness  to  share ; 

First — Winthrop,  the  eldest,  and  Elsie,  the  baby; 
Then  Harold,  our  brave  boy;  and  I,  too,  was  there. 

We  formed  a  half-circle — how  well  I  recall  it ! 

And  each  one  repeated  a  verse  for  the  day  ; 
But — "Suffer  the  children  to  come  unto  Me"  was 

The  verse  little  Elsie  seemed  always  to  say. 

Ah !  then  would  dear  Grandmother  tenderly  lift  her, 
And  settle  her  fondly,  the  Pet,  on  her  knee ; 

''Dod  loves  little  children,  you  told  me  so,  Dan'ma, 
And  if  he  docs  weally,  then  Dod  must  love  me." 

[34] 


GRANDMOTHERS     BIBLE 


Ah !  dear  little  Elsie,  how  Grandmother  loved  her, 
How  every  one  loved  her,  the  pride  of  our  home  ; 

Fair,  beautiful  blossom,  with  sweetest  of  tendrils, 
That  only  seemed  fit  in  God's  Nursery  to  bloom. 

He  thought  so  most  surely,  and  loved  her  so  truly, 
That  Elsie,  our  darling,  was  sent  for  one  day  ; 

The  Angels  kept  calling,  and  so,  in  the  dawning, 
They  carried  her  pure  baby-spirit  away. 

Ah,  God !  how  we  suffered !  such  heartaches,  such  yearnings ! 

Such  long  hours  of  struggle,  and  hot  tears  we  shed ! 
God  took  her — we  knew  it,  this  pearl  of  pure  beauty, 

And  only  the  setting  WTC  laid  'mong  the  dead. 

Then  Grandmother  read,  once  again,  the  old  story, 
With  three  little  children  pressed  close  to  her  chair; 

Perhaps  her  voice  faltered,  but  reading  of  Heaven, 
We  all  thought  it  nearer  'cause  Elsie  was  there. 

So  now  let  us  prize  it,  the  dear,  well-worn  Bible, 
We'll  keep  it  in  mem'ry  of  Grandmother's  love ; 

She's  gone,  but  we  still  seem  to  feel  her  sweet  presence, 
An  influence  sacred,  that  comes  from  above. 

[35] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


SPRING-TIME 

Spring  and  the  Robins !    Both  are  here  again ! 

Robins,  with  fairy  hop — and  brilliant  hue; 
Short  days  are  gone,  and  chill  winds  on  the  wane, 

And  little  tufts  lift  tongues  for  morning  dew. 
Hail,  beauteous  Spring !    We  greet  thee  with  heart-glee ; 
We  love  thy  crocus-beds  and  fair  anemone. 

Thy  yellow  blooms  we  love,  which  freight  the  way 
With  sunshine  golden,  e'er  a  leaf  appears ; 

Forsythia,  truly,  is  a  herald  gay — 

To  mark  each  Spring-time  in  the  flight  of  years. 

Foremost  of  blossoms,  waked  by  Spring  again, 

We  greet  and  love  thee !    Shower  of  golden-rain ! 

Come,  Robin  Redbreast !    Come !    Lead  thou  the  way 
To  where  a  fair  magnolia  blooms  anew, — 

With  countless  blossoms,  like  to  huge  bouquet, 
Its  leaves  unfurled,  will  later  burst  to  view. 

Spring's  glorious  visitant !    We'd  sing  in  song 

Thy  beauteous  bounty,  which  we'd  fain  prolong. 

[36] 


SPRING-TIME 


We'd  sing  of  hyacinths  and  pansies  coy, 
Whose  baby-faces  gleam  from  lowly  bed. 

We  think  they  smile,  and  say,  with  Spring-time  joy, 
"We  love  it  now — that  wintry  chill  has  fled, 

And  come — a  lot  of  us — in  varied  hue, 

Because  we  love  the  Spring,  as  well  as  you." 

But,  Robin  come !    To  wildwood  fastness  now ! 

Come,  let  us  seek  the  sweet  arbutus  vine ! 
Both  on  the  hillside,  and  in  woodland  low, 

We'll  scent  it  e'er  we've  reached  its  hidden  shrine. 
Hidden,  like  bashful  maiden !  hid  away — 
Yet  sweetly  fragrant,  every  tiny  spray. 

Oh,  how  we  love  them !    These  dear  Spring-time  days ! 

How  we  would  stay  them  in  their  matchless  flight ! 
Hourly  unfolding  in  such  wondrous  ways, 

Bringing — like  thought — from  bud,  full  leaf,  to  sight. 
Robin  and  Spring-time,  stay!    We  want  you  here! 
Dearest  and  loveliest  days  of  all  the  year. 


[37] 


THOUGHTS    AS     THEY    CAME 

MEMORY  BELLS 

Oh,  Memory  Bells !    Ye  Memory  Bells ! 
Whose  softest  tones  time  never  quells ! 
Sway  on !  Sway  on !    Thy  music  tells 
Of  other  days — sweet  Memory  Bells! 

Oh,  Memory  Bells!    Those  days  long  gone- 
Come  back — recalled  by  rhythmic  song; 
The  joyous  hours,  in  gleeful  tones ; 
The  darkened  days,  in  plaintive  moans. 

Then  sway  aloft !    Thy  notes  we  greet ! 
Sway  high,  sway  low — in  cadence  sweet; 
Within  our  hearts  there  ever  dwells 
A  love  for  thee — blest  Memory  Bells. 

WORDS  UNSPOKEN 

Let  me  but  dream  in  some  strange  way ! 
Let  me  but  live  again  that  day 
When  eyes — pure  eyes — looked  into  mine, 
And  said — without  one  uttered  word  — 
Yet  said,  as  joy  within  me  stirred, 
"I  love  you  with  a  love  divine." 
[38] 


f 


r-\ 


'Suppose  you  sit  on  yonder  chair, 
The  one  beside  the  chimnev  there' 


CALLING     AT     THE      HOMESTEAD 

Let  me  but  know  the  bliss  I  knew 

When  earth  seemed  Heaven,  and  all  hearts  true; 

When  haze  and  sunshine — land  and  sea — 

And  song  of  bird — all — all — for  me, 

Were  tuned  to  my  sweet  ecstasy — 

The  while  I  dreamed  my  dream  of  thee. 


CALLING  AT  THE  HOMESTEAD 

What  say  you?    Shall  we  "bide  a  wee," 
And  watch  the  brewing  of  that  tea  ? 
Suppose  you  sit  on  yonder  chair, 
The  one  beside  the  chimney  there, 
And  on  the  old  crane,  aged  but  strong, 
We'll  hear  the  kettle  sing  its  song. 

How  odorific!  old-time  tea! 

And  dear,  old-fashioned  room — and  we! 

We'll  blot  out  years — past  years — long  gone, 

We'll  think  of  days  e'er  we  were  born, 

And  how  our  Grandmas,  in  their  turn, 

Have  watched  that  log-fire  crack  and  burn. 

[39] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

What  fun  to  climb  that  stairway  steep, 
And  'neath  the  heavy  rafters  seek 
Old  brasses — candlesticks  and  braziers — 
That  Grandma  called  her  attic  treasures ; 
Where  family  spiders  spin  their  webs 
O'er  fine  old  family  chairs  and  beds. 

Carved  richly,  old,  discarded  pieces, 
And  heirloom  gowns  with  well-pressed  creases ; 
Such  scantly  corsaged,  quaint  old  dresses, 
And  yellowed  caps,  which  covered  tresses 
Not  always  gray !    Our  Mothers  say 
Decreed  were  caps  by  Fashion's  sway. 

We'll  peek  and  search  in  cranny  nooks, 
And  find  great  rows  of  stalwart  hooks, 
From  which — I'm  sure — in  Grandma's  day, 
Hung  odds  and  ends — for  they  do  say 
Sweet  herbs  and  lavender  combine 
In  mingled  scent  of  olden  time. 

And  thus  we  chat,  and  keep  on  rocking, 
The  while  we  hear  a  gentle  knocking ; 

[40] 


CALLING     AT     THE     HOMESTEAD 


And  there,  outside  the  old  Dutch  door, 
Two  mittened  maids,  in  frills  galore, 
Await  a  welcome !    Thus  come  in 
Miss  Hester  Ann  and  Deborah  Green — 

With  reticules !    Quite  plain  to  see 
They  came  to  join  a  knitting  bee. 
Alas!  when  knitting  I've  pursued, 
My  eyes  were  to  the  needles  glued  ; 
While  Grandma — I  have  heard  them  say- 
Could  rock — and  knit — with  eyes  astray. 

And  as  the  two — I  sit  there  eyeing — 

In  speed,  both  tongues  and  needles  vying, 

I  think  how  truly,  often  said— 

A  knitting  bee  is  gossip  spread. 

We  heard — why,  what  we  did  not  hear, 

Had  had  no  birth  for  many  a  year. 

We  heard  the  news  of  quick  and  dead ; 
The  latest  born,  and  newly  wed  ; 
Of  parson's  wife,  and  bairnies  four ; 
Of  "gossip  club"  at  country  store; 
Of  hillside  folk,  and  village  street; 
Of  homes  neglected,  housewives  neat — 

[41] 


THOUGHTS     AS      THEY     CAME 

We  heard  it  all — as  much  and  more 
Than  wise  to  tell — or  we  to  store. 
Outside — good  Brindle  wends  her  way 
Toward  milking  place,  and  birdlings  stay 
Their  wandering  flights,  and  cluster  down 
Where  nestlings  peep  their  evening  song. 

Athwart  the  house-path  shadows  fall. 
So  ends  the  day !  so  ends  our  call ! 
We'll  leave  the  logs  on  old-time  hearth, 
To  seek  our  modern  homes,  forsooth. 
And  going,  ask  from  yon  high  dome, 
That  golden  eyes  guard  well  this  home. 


A  CORNER  IN  NEW  YORK 

Out  from  the  turmoil !    Out  from  a  Broadway  throng ! 

Where  glare  and  noise  keep  pace  with  restless  tread. 
Out  from  the  ceaseless  jinglings  of  a  city's  song! 
That  traffic  bass — which,  rumbling  deep  and  long, 

Joins  with  the  human  treble  overhead. 

[42] 


A     CORNER     IN     NEW     YORK 


Wearying,  we  turn  from  rush  of  surging  tide, 

And  drifting — as  it  were — on  shut-in  stream, 
We  leave  that  ebb  and  flow,  which  circles  wide, 
And  pause  for  rest  where  calm  and  peace  abide, 
Albeit  not  far  removed  from  bustling  scene. 

Here  sunbeams  play  in  undisturbed  delight, 

And  children's  voices  join  the  birdlings'  chirp  — 
Making  sweet  harmonies,  till  evening  light 
Sends  both  a-nesting !    Out  of  sound  and  sight 
Till  coming  morrow  finds  them  both  alert. 

Here  old  St.  George's  opens  portals  wide 

And  bids  one  enter !    Calm  retreat  for  prayer ! 
The  stained  glass  forms,  which  range  on  either  side, 
Seem  saying — "Come  ye  in,  awhile  abide! 
Ye'll  find  a  silence  sweet  and  solace  here." 

Respite  from  chaos,  and  from  City  calls ; 

Here  make  a  halt !    Let  rush  the  maddening  crowd  ! 
Here,  in  this  green  enclosure,  these  old  walls 
Have  stood  in  dignity  inspiring — which  enthralls ! 
And  will — till  of  Today — but  echo  falls, 

And  Father  Time  lets  gently  down  his  shroud. 

[43] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

ON  LEAVING  THE  CITY  FOR 
ROXBURY,  CONNECTICUT 

Out  of  the  hurly-burly,  where  no  din,  no  clash  of  City  noises,  mars  the 

air; 
Where  grassy  meadows  end  where  hills  begin,  spreading  their  vernal 

freshness  everywhere. 

Just  over  yonder,  outlined  'gainst  the  sky,  good-natured  Brindle  chews 

her  evening  cud  ; 
With  flap  of  wing,  a  chicken  roosts  near  by ;  and  sauntering,  comes  a 

lad  adown  the  road. 

Life  animate — threefold — all  else  is  still, 
Till,  on  the  quiet,  breaks  the  whip-o'-will. 

Out  where  the  stars  hang  low,  as  shadows  creep,  and  higher  gleam  a 

myriad  baby  flames; 
Long  moonbeams  pale,  through  treetops  hide  and  seek,  and  fire-flies  play 

their  flashing  lantern  games. 

Soft  on  the  air  comes  scent  of  new-mown  hay,  then  spicy  whiff  by 

Balm  of  Gilead  shed ; 
"Sweetest  of  all" — we're  quite  too  prone  to  say,  till  comes  a  breeze, 

fresh  filled  from  clover  bed. 

[44] 


LEAVING     CITY     FOR     ROXBURY,     CONN. 


Oh,  where  such  sweetness  as  Dame  Nature  gives  ? 
Where — but  in  pastoral  lands,  wherein  she  lives. 

Not  distant  far,  three  village  spires  we  sight,  where  shaded,  white-faced 

homes  sleep  on  the  Green ; 
Hills  upon  hills  roll  off  in  hazy  light,  and  loveliest  vales  lay  nestled  in 

between. 

Vales,  where  the  Village  Green  has  always  place,  and  rears  in  churchly 

spires  its  trinity  ; 
Where  homes  look  trim,  and  carry  on  their  face  a  sort  of  "  Mayflower" 

calm  serenity. 

Valleys,  where  streams  play  rhythms,  journeying  by 
Beneath  the  blue  of  a  New  England  sky. 

What  have  we  here  in  lieu  of  City  charms?    What  but  the  meadows 

green,  and  song  of  birds ! 
What  but  the  ripening  grain,  and  well-filled  barns!    What  but  the 

Rest,  which  quiets  unstrung  nerves. 

Here,  then,  we'll  stay,  till  bright-hued  foliage  wanes,  till  on — and  on — 

Autumnal  evenings  creep ; 
Till  thrifty  squirrels  hide  their  nuts  with  pains,  and  old  Dame  Nature 

gently  falls  asleep. 

[45] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 


Here — with  the  hills  and  rills — awhile  we'll  stay, 
And  going,  whisper,  "Coming  back  some  day." 


DAWN  AMONG  THE  HILLS 

'Tis  only  the  birds  that  are  fluttering  now, 
Only  their  twitter,  and  call  from  the  trees  ; 

Far  off  in  the  East  comes  a  baby-like  glow, 

And  at  hand  a  strange  stillness,  disturbed  but  by  these. 

You'll  see  one  in  flight,  as  he  pauses  to  rest, 

A  fugitive  glance  he  will  nervously  steal ; 
Then  sends  off  a  chirp  to  the  mate  in  the  nest 

That  he's  on  his  way  home  with  a  fresh  morning  meal. 

A  telephone  message  to  Madame — la  Mere! 

Like  a  "t'wit!  t'wit!  t'wee!  t'wit!  t'wit!  t'wee!" 
To  have  the  wee  birdlings  for  breakfast  prepare — 

With  a  t'wit!  t'wit!  t'wee!   t'wit!  t'wit!  t'wee! 

Hark !  listen !   From  depths  of  yon  tall  maple  tree 
Comes  a  baby-like,  muffled  "pee-wee!  pee-wee!" 

Then  a  t'wit !  t'wit !  t'wee !  t'wit !  t'wit !  t'wee ! 

Which  we  think  means  "We're  hungry,  as  hungry  can  be." 

[46] 


DAWN     AMONG     THE      HILLS 


See!  bright  shafts  are  falling,  and  lower  they  creep  — 
Rays  of  glory  from  hillcrest  to  low  cottage  wall  — 

As  the  Sun-God,  aroused  from  retirement  and  sleep, 
Spreads  a  widening  smile — overreaching — for  all. 

First,  leaf  after  leaf  on  the  sky-line  he  tips  ; 

Then,  softly  adown  sweeps  his  gold-laden  brush, 
As  over  our  hillside  the  great  ball  he  slips, 

To  greet  the  day-dawn,  with  a  fiery  blush. 

And  here  are  we  now,  with  the  song  and  the  dawn, 

And  the  half-expressed  murmurings  born  of  the  leaves ; 

They,  too,  are  awaking,  aroused  by  the  shaking 
Of  a  sunlit  and  dew-scented,  spirit-like  breeze. 

We're  thinking  of  moments  and  morrows — to  come — 
Of  today's  matin  glories,  and  sweet  morning  air; 

And  we  know,  on  those  morrows,  when  thoughts  backward  turn, 
'Tis  these  hills  wre  shall  think  of,  and  wish  ourselves  here. 

We'll  see  the  great  ball,  as  it  rolled  into  sight, 

Hear  the  call  of  the  bird,  and  the  answering  refrain  ; 

And  we'll  say — "Backward  turn,  Father  Time,  in  your  flight!" 
"Give  it  back — that  day-dawn! — give  it  back  once  again!" 

[47] 


THOUGHTS     AS      THEY     CAME 


MID-SUMMER  DAYS  IN  LITCHFIELD, 
NEW  ENGLAND 

See !  the  haze  has  cleared  away, 
Which  at  high-noon  had  full  sway, 

And  a  freshness  earth  upon  the  air  distills; 
As  the  shadows  longer  grow, 
And  the  sun  sinks  far  below 

Where  the  chestnuts  are  in  blossom  on  the  hills. 

While  the  day  is  on  the  wane, 
And  the  birds  seek  nests  again, 

And  a  rippling  tells  of  hidden,  mossy  rills  ; 
There  is  sweetness  in  the  air 
From  the  hay — mown — here  and  there, 

And  the  chestnuts  are  in  blossom  on  the  hills. 

The  fullness  of  the  trees 

Tells  Mid-Summer  days  are  these; 

E'en  the  song-birds  know,  and  join  their  varied  trills. 
'Tis  a  plenteous  time  of  year, 
Though  the  corn  still  lacks  the  ear, 

While  the  chestnuts  are  in  blossom  on  the  hills. 

[48] 


VISIT     TO     LAKE     WARAMANG,     CONN 

There's  a  shower  of  tassels  soft, 
Like  a  huge  bouquet  aloft, 

Spreading  olive  tints,  till  many  a  slope  it  fills  ; 
Scurrying  squirrels  blink  and  call, 
"Look  ye!    Later,  burrs  will  fall!" 

Now — the  chestnuts  are  in  blossom  on  the  hills. 


A  SECOND  NATIONAL  HOLIDAY  VISIT 
TO  LAKE  WARAMANG,  CONNECTICUT 

Thirty  full  years  have  sped  on — and  away— 

Since  four  haply  sauntered  along  this  same  shore  ; 

And  now,  on  this  bright  Anniversary  Day, 

Comes  one — only  one — to  return  of  the  four. 

Two  have  passed  over  the  Unseen  Divide, 

The  other  roams  far  from  this  placid  Lakeside. 

Up  in  the  maples  low  mate-calls  are  heard  ; 

Gently  the  ripples  play  songs  on  the  Lake ; 
Softly  a  flood  of  strange  memories  are  stirred, 

Mem'ries  which  ripple  and  bird-song  awake  ; 
A  chirrup !  then  rollicking,  wild  roundelays, 
The  very  same  notes  of  those  far-agone  days. 

[49] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

Thirty  full  years !    Ah !    How  could  they  know 
That  a  fourth  of  a  century — Aye !  that  and  more — 

From  the  time  that  they  strolled  in  that  soft  evening  glow. 
Would  into  the  Past  roll  forever !  before 

Out  from  the  stir  of  the  City  would  stray 

Just  one  of  the  four — to  come  back  here  today. 


AUTO  DAYS  IN  THE  WHITE  MOUNTAINS 

Land  of  the  fir !    Whose  morning  winds,  so  fresh, 
Play  writh  the  dew  on  balsam  and  on  birch  ; 
Aye !  kiss  the  early,  odor-laden  dew, 
And  bring  caresses  sweetened  back  to  you. 

Life-giving  air !    Where  pointed  balsams  tower, 
Filled  with  their  spice  combined  with  wildwood  flower ; 
And  as  we  curve  with  Androscoggin's  banks, 
Our  road-bed  hard,  with  many  a  parkway  ranks. 

Miles  upon  miles  it  winds  by  river  side, 

Logs  lately  hewn  adown  those  waters  glide ; 

Naught  but  the  stream — the  logs — and  darksome  green 

In  depths  of  mountain  fastness  to  be  seen. 

[50] 


AUTO     DAYS     IN     WHITE     MOUNTAINS 

Anon,  from  haunts  within  these  forests  deep, 
Come  soft-eyed  deer,  with  stately  walk  or  leap ; 
And  rinding  cautious  way  to  water's  brink, 
First  pause  in  watchful  attitude — then  drink. 

Nothing  astir !    No  cause  for  least  alarm ! 
No  hand  of  foe  to  flash  the  air  with  harm ! 
Back  to  its  haunts  it  goes  its  fearless  way, 
Where  forest  depths  make  scant  the  light  of  day. 

We've  wandered  where  dense  umbrage  lures  one  on, 
Where  green  cliffs  draw  yet  closer  to  their  own ; 
The  bush  and  tree  outspread  on  upper  ledge, 
We've  seen  well-mirrored  from  the  water's  edge. 

We've  wakened  echoes  on  the  Echo  Lake, 

We've  seen  the  "Old  Man"  on  the  heights  awake — 

Come  into  vision  on  the  flattened  stone, 

And  gaze  in  profile  from  his  eyrie  home. 

We've  sojourned  where  "The  Waumbek"  opens  door, 
Where  golfer  finds  his  links — he  wants  no  more ! 
There's  hospitality  within,  and  well-trained  care, 
And  Nature-lovers  find  rare  glories  there. 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

Superb  the  colorings  in  the  parting  light — 
As  in  a  march  triumphal,  born  of  might ; 
To  Westward  sweeping,  in  majestic  way, 
The  Sun-God  —  for  the  nonce — resigns  his  sway. 

'Tis  then  that  goblins  take  on  nightly  shape ! 

The  weird,  white  forms  that  slender  birch  trunks  make ; 

Like  ghosts  from  hiding  come,  in  silent  groups, 

And  stand  in  line,  adown  the  road,  like  troops. 

We've  stripped  their  bark  and  thinned  the  sheet-like  leaves, 
And  sent  our  missives  from  these  white  birch  trees  ; 
Ghosts  they  may  be — on  dark  or  starlit  night— 
But  dawn  dispels  all  phantom  forms  from  sight. 

We've  seen  the  farmer  struggle  with  a  soil, 

Where  pebbles — weighing  tons — made  strenuous  toil; 

And  then — where  tireless  labor  made  to  yield 

Fair  hay  crop  from  this  granite-speckled  field. 

We've  seen  as  guardsman  at  the  Crawford  Notch, 
The  "Head  of  Elephant"  on  constant  watch; 
We've  stood  on  high — where,  in  a  cloud-wrapped  bed, 
Mt.  Washington  is  wont  to  hide  his  head. 

[52] 


THE     OTTAUQUECHEE 


We've  felt  at  Dixville  Notch  strange  silence  reign, 
Where  granite  peaks  were — sometime — rent  in  twain, 
And  stand  today — as  granite  open  door — 
To  offer  entrance  to  a  kindred  store. 

We  know  the  grandeur  of  these  granite  peaks, 
Likewise  the  quiet — that  one  oft'-times  seeks; 
We  know  the  wondrous,  countless  charms  that  wait 
An  Auto  Ramble  through  the  Granite  State. 


THE  OTTAUQUECHEE 

On  the  winding  Ottauquechee,  by  the  green  slopes  of  Mt.  Tom, 
Sleeps  as  bonny  little  village  as  e'er  sun  or  stars  shone  on. 
Life  seems  here,  less  life  we're  solving, 
Than  round  restful  end  revolving — 

Or  a  corner  of  Old  England  changing  places  on  the  earth : 
All  the  quiet — and  the  quaintness — finding  here  a  second  birth. 
Strange  the  silence!    And  it  moved  us — 
As  the  Peace,  so  restful,  wooed  us. 

[53] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

In  the  gloaming,  by  the  river,  wander  e'er  the  stars  have  come, 
When  the  glorious  tints,  so  varied,  tell  the  King  of  Day  is  gone. 
And  to  keep  his  power  in  mind, 
Leaves  his  p.  p.  c.'s  behind. 

Seek  the  limpid  Ottauquechee  in  our  own  Green  Mountain  State, 
There  the  spirit  of  Old  England  will  sweet  memories  awake ; 
Dreams  of  homes  with  vine-clad  faces — 
Where  the  shrubbery  interlaces. 

Follow  up  this  streamlet  limpid  to  its  source — mere  rippling  rills! 
Then  these  ripplings  will  be  hidden,  you  will  lose  them  in  the  hills. 
Lose  them  where  wide-spreading  brambles 
Snuggle  into  wildwood  tangles. 

Would  you  know  the  rightful  meaning  of  this  name,  and  whence  it 

sprung? 
'Tis  the  Red   Man's  "Winding  Water"— "Ottauquechee"   in  his 

tongue, 

And  today  'tis  warmed  while  winding 
'Neath  the  same  sun's  brilliant  shining. 


*  * 


[54] 


THE     OTTAUQUECHEE 


What  so  silent  as  the  quiet  of  New  England  village  street? 

Where  the  voices  and  the  laughter?  where  life's  pulses  and  heart-beat? 

Where,  indeed  ?    We're  forced  to  feel 

Sabbath  stillness  o'er  us  steal. 

Shadowy  forms  on  porches  seated — rocking — gazing  into  space, 
What  cared  they  how  Fashion  fleeted? — Fashion  seemed  so  out  of 

place. 

Vine-framed,  they  so  little  knowing 
Old-time  pictures  they  were  showing. 

E'en  the  trees  have  air  impressive!  sentinels-like,  in  double  lines; 
What  a  history  could  they  tell  us  of  ye  folks  of  olden  times ! 
Of  their  gatherings  and  hand-quiltings, 
Of  their  gossip  and  love-makings. 

'Neath  their  boughs,  for  generations,  families  long  their  homes  have 

made, 
Grandsires — grandames — and  relations — all  have  known  and  loved 

their  shade. 

One  has  justly  pride  in  these 
Hoary,  grand  New  England  trees. 

[55l 


THOUGHTS     AS      THEY     CAME 


Would  ye  seek  green  fields  elysian  in  a  haven  of  the  blest  ? 
Woodstock — by  the  winding  river — is  that  placid  home  of  rest. 
There  the  Inn  is  comfort  yielding,  Nature's  best  is  interceding; 
Life  of  shadow  hath  release,  Nature's  voice  is  raised  in  Peace. 


THE  CONGRESSIONAL  LIBRARY 

A  stately  mass !    Impressive  and  ornate ! 

We  pause  upon  the  threshold  to  admire ! 
We're  wont  to  say — Could  human  hand  create 

That  upon  which  the  human  eyes  ne'er  tire? 

So  rich  the  coloring,  as  stray  sunbeams  creep 
Far  into  corners,  pushing  out  the  dark  ; 

But  lovelier  still — when  day's  great  forces  sleep, 
And  light  diffused  is  from  electric  spark. 

When  myriad  glows  come  forth  in  softened  form, 

As  if  preparing  for  an  evening  feast, 
Then  scores  of  pillars  wield  Alhambra's  charm, 

And  lofty  spandrels,  then,  are  at  their  best. 

[56] 


THE     CONGRESSIONAL     LIBRARY 


Tall,  long-robed  sages  in  cold,  stoic  way, 
Stand  in  the  silence,  gazing  off  on  space  — 

Or  down — far  down — where  humans  of  today 
Are  moving  dwarf-like  in  inclosured  place. 

Hither  and  thither  move  the  many  forms, 

Volumes  are  passed,  and  men  make  quiet  rounds. 

A  deep-felt  hush!    Above — are  men  in  bronze! 

Strange  silence  there !    And  here — all  lack  of  sounds. 

Those  men  in  bronze,  wThose  names  indelibly 
Are  writ  in  stone  upon  the  walls  of  fame ; 

Whose  lives,  well  spent,  have  left  posterity 
The  richer — wiser — for  each  fadeless  name. 

To  live  is  great!    Inspiring  to  create! 

To  reap  stupendous  mind's  emolument ! 
To  be  a  genius!    Oh,  how  doubly  great! 

And  in  the  going — leave  Mind-Monument. 

Thus  with  the  genius  powerful  to  devise 

This  massive,  marbled  pile  !    A  wondrous  scheme ! 

Ornate  in  beauty !    May  it  ever  rise 

A  perfect  structure!    Like  to  captured  dream— 

[57] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 

Caught  in  the  passing!    E'er  the  bustling  day 
Had  silenced  harmonies  in  slumber  deep ; 

E'er  crowding,  noisome  sounds  had  chased  away 
The  pictures  that  are  conjured  up  in  sleep. 

Pictures  so  beautiful !    We  call  them  dreams ! 

So  vivid  oft' — e'er  fading  into  naught. 
Could  we  but  catch  and  hold  them — for  it  seems 

This  One  was  beautiful !    And  it  was  caught. 


APPOMATTOX 

Down  where  the  Appomattox  flows 
We  stood !    Where  years  agone 

Lines  of  outreaching  earthworks  rose ; 

The  hills  around  were  rife  with  foes, 
By  bloody  conflicts  torn. 

Far  on  stretched  miles  of  Southern  soil, 

Beneath  a  Southern  sun ; 
Where  sons  of  wealth,  and  sons  of  toil, 
Hard  fought  to  end  tempestuous  broil  — 

His  cause,  the  righteous  One. 

[58] 


APPOMATTOX 


And  standing  there,  the  pines,  it  seemed  — 

Grouped  pines! — and  scanty  trees — 
Sighed — as  we  oft'-times  hear  in  dreams, 
When  shadowy  visions  give  us  gleams 
Of  scenes  akin  to  these. 

They  moved!    These  trees!    And  moving  sighed, 

And  with  strange  cadence  told 
How  brothers  met !    How,  side  by  side, 
From  North  and  South,  they  fought  and  died, 

Under  two  Flags  enrolled. 

Again  they  moved !    Those  grim  old  pines 

Moved  with  responsive  nod ! 
Half  century  gone !    Those  bitter  times ! 
Gone  with  their  sad,  dividing  lines! 

Into  oblivion  gone !    Thank  God ! 

Industries  now  find  soil  for  growth, 

No  sound  of  cannon  jars; 
While  to  the  winds  of  North  and  East, 
To  kindred  South,  and  far-off  West, 

Is  flung  "Old  Glory's"  Stars. 

[59] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 


THOUGHTS  SUGGESTED  AT 
GETTYSBURG 

Up  from  the  South,  in  the  long  Summer  days, 
And  down  from  the  neighboring  North, 

When  the  twilight  soft  hung  long  in  the  vales, 
It  was  then  that  the  troops  came  forth — 

Came  forth  from  the  States  of  the  self-same  land, 

The  men  that  as  brothers — not  foes — should  stand. 

That  was  long  years  since !  and  the  turf  today 
Grows  green  over  Government  Ground. 

Some  five  and  twenty  square  miles  in  that  fray 
Were  stained,  when  the  Peace-God  frowned  — 

When  the  Peace-God  frowned,  and  some  thousands  fell 

At  the  sound  of  the  War-God's  deep  death  knell. 

The  boys  in  blue,  and  the  boys  in  gray, 

Closed  in — over  long  stone  wall — 
And  fought,  and  fell,  till  the  close  of  the  day, 

And  the  night  covered  all  with  a  pall— 
Covered  all  with  a  pall,  as  the  big  stars  shed 
Their  glistening  tears  over  countless  dead. 

[60] 


SUGGESTED     AT     GETTYSBURG 

Not  always  'twill  be — for  the  change  must  come, 
And  the  God-part  in  man  must  show  ; 

He  must  rise  to  himself !    He  must  come  to  his  own  ! 
And  the  brute  in  the  man  must  go. 

To  adjust  vexed  questions  by  warfare — what  then? 

But  a  barbarous  streak  left  in  civilized  man. 


Long  years  have  gone !    And  great  monuments  rise 

As  tributes  to  men  and  their  deeds ; 
The  wheat  field,  once  trampled  and  gory,  now  lies 

Soft  and  green,  through  good-fellowship  seeds. 
With  his  musket  set  high,  old  John  Burns  standing  nigh 
Shows  a  spirit  to  fight — and,  if  need  be,  to  die. 


The  little  Wade  Cottage  ?    That,  too,  is  still  there ! 

The  bullet-pierced  door  they  will  show ; 
They  will  tell  how  a  ball  swiftly  whizzed  through  the  air, 

And  the  one  woman-victim  lay  low — 
The  one  woman-victim  lay  dead  on  the  spot, 
In  that  third  day's  fight,  by  a  death-dealt  shot. 


[61] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

They  are  holding  the  field,  but  they  stand  in  stone  - 
These  heroes,  who  fought  in  the  past ; 

This  life-work  o'er,  and  the  war  is  done— 
God  grant  it  may  be  the  last ! 

We  want  no  more,  that  the  sons  of  the  land 

Be  victims,  to  settle  the  issues  at  hand. 

We  want  that  the  sun  should  shine  as  now 

On  gardens,  and  fields  well  tilled ; 
That  the  lamps  of  Heaven  new  luster  show, 

And  the  voice  of  the  War-God  stilled. 
But  always,  on  all  of  these  graves,  We'll  lay 
A  pansy,  and  fresh-culled  rosemary  spray. 

Go  visit  today  that  historical  spot ! 

There — facing  each  other — you'll  see 
On  opposite  heights,  where  their  troops  lined  up, 

The  Generals — Meade  and  Lee. 
For  the  Peace-God,  now,  holds  the  long  stone  wall, 
And  the  same  "Old  Glory"  waves  high  over  all. 


[62] 


OUR     SUNNY     SOUTH 


OUR  SUNNY  SOUTH 

Where  the  blossoms  yield  fresh  fragrance,  wooing  every  passing  breeze 
As  it  lingers — softly  whispering  mid  the  moss-hung,  live-oak  trees — 
Or  it  plays  aeolian  murmurings  with  the  multi-varied  palms, 
Finding  trysting-place  most  brilliant,  mid  poinsettia's  floral  arms. 

If  we  catch  its  meaning  rightly,  this  it  surely  seems  to  say — 

"  Come !  and  tarry  here  till  haply  Northern  snows  have  passed  away." 

Here,   if  luckless  flakes  should   venture — foolish  flakes! — Old   Sol 

would  fain 
Hie  them  hence — in  rapid  measure;  they  would  scarce  return  again. 

E'en   the  palms — with   long,  slim   ringers — by  these  fairy   zephyrs 

fanned — 

Seem  to  beckon — "Come!  and  linger  in  our  balmy  Southern  land!" 
"Come  where  bright-hued  bougainvillia  spreads  its  wealth  of  foliage 

gay, 
Where  are  hedges  of  hibiscus,  clothed  in  royal,  rich  array." 

"Where  the  modest,   bell-shaped   freesia — in   its  golden,   perfumed 

wealth — 
Breathes  an  added  scented  story  to  the  beauties  of  the  South. 

[63] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


Where  the  windings  of  the  river,  and  its  jungle-bordered  slopes, 

Call  with  softest  ripplings  ever — 'Come  ye  back,  ye  Northern  folks!'  " 

"Come  where  ocean  rolls  and  kisses  every  sand  within  its  reach! 
Come  and  watch  it  ever  circling  over  hard  and  matchless  beach ! 
Rolling  on — and  circling  ever  over  miles!  a  score  and  more! 
Ever  swirling — white  and  foaming — over  hard,  coquina  floor." 

"Come  where  Ormond  Beach  and  Sea  Bright  offer  wave-washed, 

joyous  stay ! 

While  across  the  stream,  Daytona — in  sweet,  blossom-laden  way — 
Lures  the  guest  from  foam  of  ocean  with  her  wealth  of  trees  and 

flowers, 
Offering  rare  and — n'est-ce-pas? — needed — ' dolci  far  nienti'  hours." 

'Tis  our  South  that  calls  the  stranger,  with  its  snow-white  cherokees, 
Groves — so  full  of  flower  and  fruitage,  vistas  of  palmetto  trees; 
Avenues  of  oaks  o'erarching,  Nature's  bounty  bursting  forth, 
Birds — and  bowers — and  scent  of  flowers,  calling  to  our  Sunny  South. 


[64] 


REAL     FOLKS 


REAL  FOLKS 

Drop  the  worry  and  the  flurry 

That  "Off-Islanders"  all  know; 

Leave  the  turmoil  well  behind  you, 

Come  where  old  Dame  Nature'll  charm  you, 

And  the  flowing  of  the  waters 

Sings  in  rhythm  as  they  flow. 

Where  are  Coffins — and  the  Folgers — 
And  a  score  of  old-time  names ; 
Those  whose  sires,  in  long-gone  ages, 
Settled  here — and  lived — and  tilled  it, 
Plucked  the  wild  flowers  strewn  upon  it, 
On  its  moors  and  rambling  lanes. 

Here  these  grandsires,  flushed  with  manhood. 
Bloomed  the  land  and  sailed  the  sea ; 
Loved  their  Island  home  with  ardor, 
Blue  of  sky  and  breath  of  water. 
And  for  those  who  settled  yonder 
Felt  but  heart-felt  sympathy. 

[65] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 

Those  "  Off-Islanders  " !    So  luckless ! 
Those  whose  lives  were  cast  elsewhere — 
Out  beyond  this  charmed  circle, 
Fringed  with  wave  and  tidal  ripple, 
Blessed  by  nature !    Soft  in  verdure 
And  in  tempered  Gulf  Stream  air. 


Here,  today,  their  children's  children 
Live  their  peaceful,  cultured  lives, 
With  Atlantic's  waves  around  them, 
Far  horizon's  verge  as  guardsman, 
Depths  of  blue  beneath  and  o'er  them — 
In  God's  vast,  eternal  skies. 


With  the  thoughts  of  quaint  Nantucket, 

Such  dear  visions  o'er  me  steal, 

Of  a  rambling,  old-time  haven 

Mid  a  people  that  are  real ; 

Where  one's  life  seems  worth  the  living, 

And  Our  God — His  Best  is  giving. 


[66] 


REAL     FOLKS 


Visions  come  of  vine-clad  doorways 
And  low  porches  wrapped  in  green ; 
Climbing  cucumbers'  white  blossoms 
Hanging  full,  lest  gaps  be  seen. 
And  hammock,  'neath  wistaria  vine, 
Suggests  ideal  Summering  time. 


Oft'-times  now  they  tell  us  stories 
Of  the  sailing  of  the  fleet, 
When  the  fisher-folk — brave  toilers! — 
Sought  the  fin-life  of  the  deep; 
Sought,  and  gained  the  oil  that  lighted 
Both  the  home  and  village  street. 


Then  they  tell  us  of  their  women 
Waiting  months  so  anxiously, 
From  the  "Captain's  walk"  long  gazing 
Out — away — on  endless  sea; 
Watching,  from  that  house-top  railing, 
Safe  return  of  fleet's  long  sailing. 


[67] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

And  they  tell  us — Aye !  they  show  us 
Many  a  liliputian  home, 
Resting  here,  or  nestling  yonder 
On  a  street  with  grass  o'ergrown  ; 
Where  window-blooms  with  cheeriness 
Seem  nodding  "Howdy  do"  to  us. 


Here  is  nature  in  its  trueness, 
Unalloyed  with  thought  of  gain  ; 
While  beyond — across  that  ocean — 
Lie  old  Portugal  and  Spain. 
Then  we  gaze  on  these  old  doorways, 
And  we  say,  "We'll  come  again." 


We  will  cross  the  moors  to  Sconset, 

Little  Sconset  by  the  sea  ; 

And  we'll  stop  and  gather  florets 

In  their  moorland  ecstasy. 

The  wild  rose  and  deep  rose-mallow, 

And  in  June — hadsonia  yellow. 

[68] 


REAL     FOLKS 


Purple  heather,  too,  we'll  gather, 

Should  we  find  its  hiding  place ; 

Dainty  pink-and-starred  sabbatia, 

Flax  and  orchids  in  full  measure. 

These — and  more— as  weeks  are  fleeting — 

Lift  their  lovely  heads  in  greeting. 

We  will  cross  the  moors  in  Autumn, 

With  its  glory  in  full  power ! 

When  its  waves  of  brilliant  beauty 

Grow  the  deeper,  hour  by  hour. 

When  are  massed  Earth's  choicest  colorings, 

And  the  varied  Art  is  shown 

Of  Th'  Eternal,  Great  Head-Master— 

'Tis  the  Touch  of  God  alone. 


Now,  sails  are  missing !    And  here,  today, 
The  fishermen's  wives  ne'er  look  that  way; 
'Tis  only  the  splash  of  the  salt-sea  spray 
That  breaks  the  silence  out  Sconset  way. 
It  speaks!  and  its  ripple  comes  back  to  me, 
And  it  says,  "  I  am  now  but  a  sailless  sea." 

[69] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 


A  WESTERN  PORTAL 

Wonders  of  Earth !    In  twain  great  boulders  rent 
And  narrow  aperture !    Where  centuried  rocks 

Have  cleft — and  left  but  small  and  walled-in  space 
For  Iron  Horse,  that  traveler's  door  unlocks. 

Great  Granite  Gateway !    Wrapping  us  in 

Where  stillness  reigns  and  sun-rays  peep  askance, 

Softening  the  light ;  where  busy,  hoary  Time 
Keeps  up  its  never-ending,  pattering  dance. 

Our  Glorious  West !    Where  Buttes  and  Mesas  rise, 
Staid  and  abrupt !  and  silent  as  the  grave — 

Save  as  the  whoop  of  Redskin  cleaves  the  skies, 
Or  voice  of  wild  papoose — like  joyous  wave 

Breaks  o'er  those  desert-sweeps  in  careless  glee, 
Born  of  restraint  unknown !    And  as  each  wave 

Brings,  echo-like,  a  child's  wild  ecstasy, 

We  catch,  accompanying  it,  this  song  of  Brave. 

[70] 


SNOQUALMIE  FALLS,  WASHINGTON 

"Free  as  the  air — or  winged  birds  in  flight! 

Untrammeled  we  by  maze  of  White  Man's  cares. 
Boundless  domain !    And  but  the  stars  of  night 

To  tell  of  other  and  far-distant  spheres." 


SNOQUALMIE  FALLS,  WASHINGTON 

We  stood,  long  years  agone,  mid  towering  growth, 
Where  sun-rays  rarely  pierced  to  hidden  grounds : 

Where  darksome  thickness  covered  Mother-Earth, 
And  inner  stillness  knew  no  outward  sounds 

Save  dash  of  torrent! — like  tumultuous  roar 

Of  plunging  waters!    This — and  nothing  more. 

A  deep-set  wilderness!    And  listening — awred!  — 
We  said,  "  Primeval !    Work  of  Nature's  God ; 

Who  here  hath  thus  majestically  reared 

So  classic  Temple! — up  from  Nature's  sod." 

We  stood  today — and  lo!  the  Temple  gone! 

No  landmark  of  that  long-ago — save  one — 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 


The  great,  ethereal  spread  of  blue  o'erhead, 
Where  cloudlets  soft,  and  vari-hued,  hung  low 

And  seemed  to  say —  "Those  whom  ye  seek  are  dead, 
Those  grand  old  monarchs  of  the  long-ago!" 

"Long  did  they  stand!    Their  towering,  hoary  forms 

Bv  Sun-God  warmed  and  lit  by  million  moons." 


These  told  sad  tale !    And  still  another  spake ! 

And  spake,  in  tones  depressed,  of  grandeur  gone ! 
So  full  of  tragedy !    It  seemed  to  wake 

A  pathos  strange,  the  while  it  trickled  on. 
So  pitiful  the  tones  in  which  it  sighed  — 
"As  Mighty  Falls  I  lived!    As  Martyr  died." 


"Naught  now  but  crippled,  listless  stream  I  flow 
And  fall  —  not  having  spirit  left  to  lunge — 

And  dance  in  foam  on  rock-bed  hewn  below; 
Or  laugh  in  play — or  roar  in  old-time  plunge. 

My  waters  harnessed — by  some  strange  decree — 

My  withered  life  crawls  on — suggestively" — 


[72] 


SNOQUALMIE  FALLS,  WASHINGTON 

"Of  what  I  was — and  what  I  long  had  been: 
Mighty  in  splash — and  dash — and  natural  force! 

A  work  of  higher  power  than  mortal  man ! 
Perverted  now — I  murmur  but  of  loss." 

So  do  the  Wheels  of  Progress  oft'-times  crush 

Some  honored  landmark,  in  their  onward  rush. 


So  do  these  Wheels  of  Progress  fell  the  trees, 
And  oft'  no  saplings  rise  from  Mother-Earth ; 

Till  of  her  Monarchs,  kissed  by  Centuries'  breeze, 
Is  left  but  pitiful  and  mournful  dearth. 

So  pitiful !    We  cry  aloud — "  How  long 

Will  old  Dame  Nature  look  thus  calmly  on?" 


"  How  long  will  she — so  great  and  big  of  heart — 
Give  of  her  fullness,  and  still  freely  give  ? 

How  long  will  woodman  play  his  felling  part, 
And  her  rich  forestry  still  pulse  and  live?" 

How  long? — 'Tis  he  who  taking  heed  will  say, 

"Earth's  bounty  ceases  at  no  distant  day." 


[73] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


ON  A  PROLONGED  STAY  AT  THE 
P.  P.  I.  E.  OF  1915 

We  stand  amid  the  vari-colored  flowers, 

Each  lifting  smiling  faces  to  the  blue ; 
Each  one  a  Master-touch  from  Master-powers, 

Giving  their  perfumed  homage  where  'tis  due. 

We  think  it  ours — this  Summer  Land  so  fair; 

No  Voice  astir!  just  whispering  of  the  winds. 
So  still !    Naught  breaks  upon  the  air 

But  note  of  birdling  or  the  flap  of  wings. 

Beyond  the  portals  weary  hosts  have  gone, 
A  world  of  tired  feet  move  on  elsewhere ; 

But  we !    We  linger !    Linger  here  alone 

To  breathe  fresh  fragrance  from  the  evening  air. 

We  catch  the  glory  of  the  silvered  night, 

And  scintillations  from  the  Jeweled  Tower  ; 

In  peaceful  waters  peer — and  clear  to  sight — 
Rise  arches  doubled  by  their  mirrored  power. 

[74] 


•Jlh.-it  in   niiii-'Ji-  0,1,1— llii*  <lin,pl,-J  fiiff  — 
II,    ,,il,li    llir   spirit   Imply  A/«/</*TI-/V/   there" 


PROLONGED     STAY     AT     THE     P.    P.    I.    E. 

Is  it  not  classic  ground  on  which  we  tread? 

Do  we  not  breathe  of  fair  Italia's  air? 
Tall  pillars  rear  their  shrub-grown  forms  o'erhead, 

Where  moonbeams  play  and  coyly  linger  there. 

Anon  they  pause,  as  we — with  pitying  thought — 
And  touch  a  head  bowed  low — of  manhood  shorn, 

A  crushed,  nigh-lifeless  form!    The  light  all  out — 
All  love — ambition — hope — forever  gone. 

So  does  the  "  Outcast "  crouch — nor  bare  his  face, 
Nor  catch  one  gleam  of  peace  from  yonder  skies; 

We  long  to  whisper  how  a  God  of  Grace 

Can  wipe  the  blackest  tears  from  weeping  eyes. 

Slowly  and  sadly  do  we  step  aside — 

To  catch  the  helpful  gleam  of  childhood's  mirth, 
Replete  with  happiness !    To  joy  alive ! 

A  blossom  sweet  to  lift  the  clouds  of  Earth ! 

Albeit  in  marble  cold — this  dimpled  face — 
We  catch  the  spirit  haply  shadowed  there  ; 

Perhaps,  unconsciously,  we  feel  a  trace 

Of  cheery  childhood's  influence  brought  to  bear. 

[75] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 

Smile  on,  dear  Child!    Smiles  are  not  all  in  vain! 

Mayhap  some  weary  passer-by — the  while — 
May  catch  your  joy!    And  taking  heart  again 

Move  on  refreshed,  to  answer  smile  with  smile. 

What — with  this  young  life  gone — this  world  of  ours? 

Furrowed,  at  times,  by  shadows  dense  and  grim ; 
And  how  much  brighter  e'en  our  golden  hours, 

Where  Children's  Voices  make  the  welkin  Ting. 

-*-****** 
So  move  we  on — at  times  alive  with  mirth, 

Catching  the  spirit  of  a  happy  face ; 
Then,  in  our  hearts,  a  sadness  oft'  finds  birth  — 

As  sculptured  hunger  pleads  in  wayside  space. 

Wondering  we  gaze  on  horse  and  rider  yon ! 

Broken  of  heart,  as  Earthly  powers  fail 
To  spur  them  yet  a  little  farther  on, 

While  slowly  fades  the  light  in  narrowing  vale. 

For  both  'tis  reached !    Each  posture  speaks  "  the  end  "  ! 

Like  sobbing,  plaintive  moan  comes  long-drawn  sigh  ; 
'Tis  but  a  wayside  halt — where  door  of  friend 

Bids  entry  to  the  shadowy  by  and  by. 

[76] 


-/     Tin    1-ia'ui  wrll-nliih   Iinve  fointtl 


Then   Summer  Lnnil . 


PROLONGED     STAY     AT     THE     P.    P.    I.    E.          | 

C 

For  both  'tis  reached !    The  twain  well-nigh  have  found 
Their  Summer  Land !    Ere  setting  of  the  sun 

They'll  wander  through  their  "  Happy  Hunting  Ground  "- 
Whence  The  Great  Spirit  bids  his  wanderers  "Come!" 

Where  Fields  are  green  with  fresh,  perennial  life, 
And  Mountains  tower  o'er  many  a  flowering  vale ; 

They'll  find  it  leads — this  wilderness  of  strife — 
But  to  an  Earthly  end — "End  of  the  Trail." 

******* 

Linger  we  now,  where  curves  a  Classic  Wall — • 
Which  woos,  at  times,  the  vine  to  reach  its  height ; 

A  thing  of  beauty,  as  day's  sunbeams  fall  ; 
A  poem — wrrapped  in  shadows  of  the  night. 

Where  moonbeams  creeping,  reach  to  pergola, 
Lingering  on  portal  wide,  for  flitful  play— 

This  open  door  which  welcomes  wanderer 

Who  fain  would  entrance  find  where  Art  holds  sway. 

Pause  as  the  moonbeams  kiss,  with  fairy  lips, 

The  central  group  of  "Mother  and  her  Twain." 

"Surely,"  we  say — while  passing  'neath  an  arch  — 
"We're  rambling  in  the  dear  Old  World  again." 
******* 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 

On,  then,  we  wander  to  where  Nations  meet, 
Bringing  their  fruits  of  varied  industries ; 

Where  our  home-Artisans  thus  haply  greet 
Their  brother-Artisans  from  o'er  the  seas. 

Sons  of  the  brush,  and  sons  of  hardy  toil ; 

Sons  who,  from  pencil  sketch,  rear  mighty  domes; 
Sons  of  our  own  prolific  Mother-Soil — 

And  all  with  products  from  respective  homes. 

All  here  united  on  a  common  ground  ; 

Peoples  of  varied  types,  and  tongues,  and  birth  ; 
Peoples  from  all  known  climes  our  sphere  around, 

These  human  links  that  girdle  all  the  Earth. 

Long  would  we  linger  mid  these  rich  results 

Of  skill — of  science — and  of  native  brawn; 
Great,  fitting  Monument!    Great  impetus 

To  those  who  seek  fresh  laurels — to  toil  on ! 

******* 
One  vastly  great !    None  greater  yet  achieved ! 

The  marvel  of  our  Twentieth  Century  times! 
All  space  annulled !    Seas  linked  with  far-off  seas, 

And  Continents  with  distant,  varied  climes. 

[78] 


PROLONGED     STAY     AT     THE     P.    P.    I.    E. 

All  brought  together !    Not  by  steam  and  rail ! 

Not  by  great  sea-craft !  nor  by  kindred  force ! 
But  miles  on  miles — like  seeming  endless  trail  — 

As  naught,  when  covered  by  the  human  voice. 

Thus  here — and  we — on  fair  Pacific's  slope 
Can  hear  the  voices  from  a  far-off  shore  ; 

The  current  news — and  music's  softest  note, 

And  from  Atlantic's  waves,  their  splash  and  roar. 

Uncanny !    Most  uncanny !    And  we  say 

What  more  to  conquer?    Man  has  sought  the  skies! 

Has  found  a  limited,  aerial  way. 

Already  he  takes  fearless  flight — and  flies. 

We  feel  advancing  with  advancing  World, 
A  part  are  we — e'en  but  integral  part — 

Striving  to  read  aright  these  leaves  unfurled — 
From  Book  of  Progress,  and  from  School  of  Art. 

$  4t  4t  4t  $  4t  41 

We  look  through  Golden  Gate  far  out  to  sea, 
Where  broad  Pacific  sinks  the  setting  sun ; 

Flooded  indeed  that  Gate  with  brilliancy 
Of  golden  overflow,  when  day  is  done. 

[79] 


THOUGHTS     AS      THEY     CAME 


Flooded  with  glory,  as  its  closing  hours 

Cover  the  firmament  with  matchless  light ; 
Spreading  o'er  Earth  and  Sea  great  golden  showers, 

Which  yield  their  glory  but  to  starry  night. 

Ah,  but  ere  curtain  falls  on  scene  so  rare, 

Ere  stately  buildings,  tottering,  fall  to  Earth, 

We'd  give  expression  to  this  Wondrous  Fair — 
In  highest  praise  to  those  who  gave  it  birth. 

Long  will  its  beauty  in  the  memory  rest, 

Its  shaded  avenues  and  softened  lights — 
A  fitting  haunt  for  sprite  or  spirit  blest, 

This  Dreamland! — mellowed  by  queen  moonlight  nights. 


AS  THE  PAST  COMES  FLOODING  IN 
AND  THE  CHRISTMAS  CHIMES  BEGIN 

Just  once  within  the  big  year's  round  we  pause, 
When  early  sundown  shortens  wintry  days  ; 

When  crackling  family  log  up  chimney  roars, 

And  into  annual  life  comes  Santa  Claus, 
Brimful  of  secrets  and  mysterious  ways. 

[80] 


AS     THE     PAST     COMES     FLOODING     IN 

Aye !  bid  him  welcome !  and  the  faith  withal 

Of  happy  childhood  in  its  bounteous  friend ; 
Laden  with  book  and  ball — and  drum  and  doll  — 
We'd  have  him  live — whom  Santa  Claus  we  call. 
His  stay,  alas!  and  childhood's  dreams  soon  end. 

So  short  the  time,  e'er  stern  realities 

And  problems  meet  us  at  life's  open  doors ; 
Let  us  renew  our  faith  with  childlike  ease, 
Let  us  but  dream  awhile — if  so  we  please — 
And  hold  in  heart  our  old  friend,  Santa  Claus. 

Let  us  then  pause,  in  rounding  the  big  year, 

And  send  our  thoughts  a-wandering  off  at  will ; 
We'll  halt  to  pick  up  threads  of  memories  dear, 
And  smile  as  faces  dearly  loved  appear — 

The  dear,  old  faces — loved  and  loving  still. 

We  dropped  those  threads,  alas!  in  days  of  yore  — 

But  now — all  space  is  bridged !  years  lost  to  sight ! 
And  but  for  Christmas,  we  might  not  restore 
This  loosened  chain,  and  make  it  taut  once  more, 
Thus  binding  "long-ago"  with  "now" — tonight. 

[81] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

No  space  divides !    'Tis  blessed  memory  time! 

How  thoughts  speed  off  to  meet  a  thought  in  kind  ! 
We  catch — in  cadence  low — a  Christmas  chime, 
We  catch  fond  greetings  in  a  far-off  clime, 

And  heart  goes  forth  responsive  heart  to  find. 

What  matters  it,  if  land-miles  intervene? 

The  lights  on  friendship's  Altar  are  re-lit. 
What  matters  it,  if  seas  roll  in  between  ? 
United  hearts  are  grouped  within  the  scene — 

Once  more  together! — as  sweet  memories  knit. 

******* 

We  want  to  weave  a  long-drawn  chain  —  until 

Its  length  will  span  this  great  terrestrial  ball ; 
In  every  loop  we'll  pinion  sweet  "good  will," 
And  every  shred  of  thread  with  "peace"  we'll  fill  — 
This  Christmas  Eve — as  night's  deep  shadows  fall. 

We'll  bid  the  "dove  of  peace"  to  bear  it  round, 

Nor  cease  till  he  has  girdled  all  the  earth  ; 
Till  each  and  every  child  of  God  is  found  — 
We'll  bid  him  make  the  world-wide  air  resound 

With  "  Merry  Christmas,"  and  with  Christmas  mirth. 

[82] 


AS     THE     PAST     COMES     FLOODING     IN 

We'll  bid  him  longer,  sweeter  notes  employ 

In  homes,  not  hard  to  find,  where  naught  is  given ; 
Where  little  children  know  no  Christmas  joy, 
Nor  merriment  which  comes  with  trifling  toy — 

The  giving  which,  means  stepping  stones  to  Heaven. 

"  He  gives  to  Me" — 'Tis  thus  we've  long  been  told — 
"Who  gives  unto  the  very  least  of  these "- 

Thus  spake  the  Master  in  the  days  of  old. 

And  ever  since,  as  centuries  unfold, 

A  "still  small  voice" — it  seems — still  intercedes. 

Let  us  then  pause,  nor  bid  the  spirit  go ! 

Dear  Christmas  spirit !  born  when  hearts  were  young. 
Welcome  each  Christmas  Morn,  with  hallowed  glow ! 
Welcome  each  sweet  surprise !  and  haply  show 

How  full  our  hearts  of  sympathy  and  song. 

And  to  our  dove !    We'll  speed  him  on,  and  say, 

Above  all  else — be  this  his  constant  call — 
Above  his  tender  matin  roundelay — 
Above  his  notes  of  cheer  along  the  way — 

Above  all  else!  just  this — "God  bless  us  all!" 

[83] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


A  TRIBUTE  TO  "THE  RED  CROSS' 

Was  ever  Mother-Love  more  truly  shown, 

Or  more  of  pity  felt  in  tender  heart? 
With  every  fiber  of  her  feelings  torn, 

And  into  action  her  whole  being  brought. 

Honor  to  Thee !    Great  Mother  of  the  World ! 

Homage  we  yield,  where  'tis  so  richly  due  ; 
And  for  the  speechless  lips  and  eyes  now  closed, 

We  say  for  them — what  they  would  say  to  you. 

You — who  gave  food  and  healing  to  the  fresh-made  wound, 
And  Mother-Care  to  win  them  back  to  health ; 

Or — if  a  call  from  out  the  "Great  Beyond," 
A  Mother-Touch  to  close  the  eyes  in  death. 

Ready — and  always — with  your  outstretched  arms — 

To  welcome  give  and  tenderness  bestow ; 
Watching,  through  thrilling  hours  of  war's  alarms, 

The  threatening  coming  of  a  brutal  foe. 

[84] 


The 

GREATEST  MOTHE 
m  //u?  WORLD 


"Honor  to    The,  !    Great  Mother  of  llif  Jf'orU  ! 
Homage  ive  yield,  inhere  'tis  so   richly  due" 


A     TRIBUTE     TO         THE     RED     CROSS 

For  us  they  fought — these  Braves!   Our  homes  to  save; 

For  us  they  fell !    Our  honor  to  uphold. 
That  grand  "Old  Glory"  from  each  hilltop  wave, 

And  Peace — a  World-wide  Peace — be  well  enrolled. 

We  think  they'd  say — these  righteous  souls  now  gone — 
Could  hands  but  clasp  and  lips  repeat  the  thought, 

We  think  they'd  say — this  great  and  noble  throng — 
"Our  lives  we  gave!"    Be  it  not  said — "for  naught"! 

"Let  us  have  Peace" — based  not  on  One-Man  Power, 
Nor  yet  on  Militant  and  Autocratic  Might; 

"Let  us  have  Peace !    To  each  man  rightful  dower, 
Of  Law — not  License — under  Freedom's  Light." 

"  Under  its  torch,  and  for  its  cause  we  died ; 

Under  its  torch,  the  'Stars  and  Stripes'  unfurled. 
And  you  !    Great  Mother !    'Tis  with  righteous  pride 

We  say — your  heroism  helped  redeem  the  World." 


[85J 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 


A  MID-OCEAN  MARCONIGRAM 

A  mid-sea  message !    Hearty  greetings  sent 
Out  into  space.    Above  the  waves  it  went ! 
Borne  on  the  lightness  of  the  unseen  air — 
Then  shot  across — and  caught  by  magnet — where 

It  brings  response.    Dear,  friendly  words,  to  me 
Come  unseen  back — across  the  depths  of  sea; 
Eager  I  read — while  strange  emotions  stir — 
"A  toi,  mille  souvenirs  les  meilleurs." 

Uncanny  this !    Forth  from  a  ship  it  goes, 

And  laughs  its  way  amid  the  wind  that  blows ; 

A  thing  invisible!  and,  by  aerial  feat, 

Comes  back  with  greetings,  or — with  news  replete. 

Unearthly  thing!  naught  seen  of  spirit  flight! 
Yet  ships  in  passing  speak,  both  day  and  night ; 
A  little  click  sent  into  starlight  fair — 
Or,  when  Sol  warms  each  molecule  of  air, 

[86] 


THE     WELCOME     OF     THE     GULLS 

It  speeds  more  swift  than  carrier-bird  made  free, 
Leaving  its  message  where  'tis  meant  to  be. 
Amazing  Power !    We  hold  thee  but  in  part ! 
We  see  thee  not ! — nor  know  we  what  thou  art. 

And  of  the  future !    Hast  thou  more  to  bring, 
Thou  most  uncanny,  almost  living  thing? 
What  new  developments  may  not  arise  ? 
Art  thou  in  bondage  to  a  space?  erstwise — 
And  to  thy  power,  this  earth  no  limit  hurls- 
Then  may'st  thou  penetrate  to  other  worlds? 


THE  WELCOME  OF  THE  GULLS 

On  what  are  we  gazing,  far  off  on  horizon  ? 

On  what,  but  an  infinitesimal  line. 
We  ask — "Is  it  Something?" — or  only  a  "seeming"? — 

Where  limits  of  cloud-bed  and  ocean  combine. 

Far  off  and  away !  yet  the  line  seems  to  deepen, 
To  deepen  and  grow,  as  the  waves  backward  roll ; 

We  gaze  half-perplexed,  while  the  heart  throbs  with  feeling, 
And  says — in  heart  language — we're  nearing  the  goal. 

[87] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


Anon,  come  the  "White  Wings,"  with  swift,  graceful  circling, 
With  swoopings  and  chatterings,  we  interpret  to  be— 

"If  land  you  are  seeking,  we've  come  with  a  greeting ; 
We're  feathered  aeroplanes — Lords  of  the  Sea." 

"We're  far-flyers,  too,  taking  rest  on  the  billow; 

Pray  toss  out  a  morsel  of  food  as  our  pay ! 
We  know  where,  together,  grow  furze  and  the  heather  ; 

With  flap  of  our  wings  we'll  take  lead  in  the  way." 

More  comrades  come  speeding,  the  distance  unheeding, 
And  thus  with  battalions  of  "White  Wings"  we  sail; 

While  coastline  is  lengthening,  we  know  beyond  doubting, 
'Twas  land  that  we  sighted — and  Erin  we  hail. 


THE  LITTLE  GREEN  ISLE 

Once  more  we  behold  thee !    Thy  hills  like  an  emerald ! 

Sure,  all  that  have  known  thee,  thy  beauties  will  tell ! 
Thy  golden-hued  furze,  and  the  wild  spraying  shamrock 

The  heather,  and  murmur  of  stream  in  the  dell. 

[88] 


'//  land  yon  arc  seeking,  ive've  come  ivith  a  greeting  ; 
II  t'rc  leathered  aeroplanes — Lords  of  the  Sea'" 


THE     LITTLE     GREEN     ISLE  $$& 

Thy  sunny-faced  lassies — and  quick-witted  laddies — 
Thy  highways,  and  byways,  and  half-hidden  stile, 

Where  love  gives  a  token,  and  love-words  are  spoken, 
And  only  love-ditties  are  sung  all  the  while. 

Thy  ivy-clad  abbeys,  and  soft,  rivered  valleys, 
Thy  sweet  wrords  of  welcome,  so  hearty  and  free ; 

Thy  Lakes  of  Killarney,  Glengariff,  and  Blarney— 

Thy  charms !  who  can  number  ?    Bound  but  by  the  Sea. 

'Tis  here  that  Mavourneen,  her  heart  light  as  mornin', 
And  burstin'  with  love  for  the  "swateheart"  at  hand, 

Will  well-nigh  caress  you — the  Mother'll  "God  bless  you!" 
And  something — "good  nature" — grows  wild  in  the  land. 

A  something  indigenous!  fertile  and  vigorous! 

Of  child  and  of  Mother — and  grandame  a  part. 
Like  sweet  flower  growing,  that's  always  in  blooming ; 

Like  bird  singing  softly  in  depths  of  the  heart. 

Ah,  bloom  on,  sweet  floret!  and  sing,  unseen  warbler! 

Lose  not  the  fresh  blossom,  nor  cease  the  sweet  lay; 
Look  well  for  the  dawning  of  every  new  morning! 

Have  ready  a  heartsease  and  song  for  the  day ! 

[89] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 

Let  us  never  reject  it,  but  rather  accept  it, 
This  lightness  of  spirit,  like  joy  of  the  morn. 

Dear  hearts !  they  beat  warmly,  yet  suffer  as  keenly, 
Whenever  by  sorrow  their  strong  chords  are  torn. 

No  colleens  are  fairer !  no  turf  grown  is  greener ! 

Where  find  we  more  picturesque  walls  than  at  Slane  ? 
To  thy  ruins  in  ivy,  to  Caragh  in  Kerry— 

And  to  all  thy  green  hillsides,  we've  come  back  again. 

Ah,  green  hills  of  Ireland !    Ye're  well-clad  in  verdure, 
From  Giant's  Big  Steps  to  the  far  Bantry  Bay ; 

May  Peace  lift  her  banner  forever  upon  Ye ! 

And  keep  your  heart  bloomin'  like  blossoms  in  May. 


'Tis  a  mighty  keen  "moind"  have  the  Irish, 
And  wonderful  how  it  will  leap ! 

You'll  find,  as  you  journey  among  them, 
The  Irishman's  far  from  "ashleep"! 

[90] 


-.Ill,    </r«,i  hills   of  Irehmil!    Yc'rr  --i-fll-fla,!  in  vrnl 


THE     PRICE     OF     A     HORSE 


Greatly  stopped  is  the  begging  in  Ireland, 

One  hears  only  once  in  a  while — 
"You're  Welcome!  and  have  ye  a  pinny 

To  help  me  along,  and  the  'Choile'?" 

But  what  do  you  think  of  the  driver, 
When  ended  a  modest-like  course — 

When,  as  coolly  as  morn  in  November, 
He  asks  for — "the  price  of  a  horse"! 

And  this  is  the  way  that  he  argues — 

'Tis  about  twenty  pounds  it  would  cost — 

"And  phwat  would  that  be  to  the  rich  loikes  of  ye? 
'Twould  be  like  but  a  ha'penny  lost." 

"I'll  name  the  horse  fur-yer,  Miloidy! 

I  can  see  now,  your  heart,  how  it  melts ! " 
'  'Tis  betther  you  give  it  to  me,  Ma'am, 
Than  lave  it  wid  arny  warne  else." 


THOUGHTS     AS      THEY     CAME 


INNISFALLEN 

"Sweet  Innisfallen" — so  writeth  a  poet— 

A  loved  poet,  too !    Whose  charmed  words  live  in  song. 
He  said  of  this  Isle — and  he  well  knew  and  loved  it— 

"Is  dimpled  in  smiles — and  in  memory  lives  long." 

Aye !  Sweet  Innisfallen !    Thy  rocks  and  thy  ruins, 
Thy  green-covered  hills  running  down  to  a  dell  ; 

Thy  ash  and  thy  holly — thy  high  lights  and  shadows, 
So  winsome  in  beauty !    Resistless  thy  spell. 

Like  coy,  lovely  maiden — thou  fair  Innisfallen ! 

Art  kissed  by  the  waters  which  flow  by  Donloe ; 
Then  on — past  bold  Tore — in  his  green  mantle  towering, 

And  keeping  good  watch  on  Killarney's  clear  flow. 

Smile  on,  Innisfallen!    Enshrined  in  rich  verdure! 

With  shades  of  old  ivy-wrapped  Ross  within  call  ; 
While  other  near  isles  smile  in  beauty  upon  you, 

Thou,  "Sweet  Innisfallen,"  art  fairest  of  all. 

[92] 


THE     GIANTS     CAUSEWAY 


THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY 

Back  in  the  far  agone! — too  far  almost 

For  mortal  mind  to  contemplate  and  grasp!  — 

From  heat  volcanic,  or  by  what  convulsed, 
Nature  achieved  a  great,  Herculean  task  ; 

High  hilltops  called  aloud  unto  the  Deep, 

Then  headlong  plunged  adown  a  rock-bound  steep. 

Now,  from  the  Sea,  great,  curious  columns  rise, 
Washed  ever  by  its  restless,  rhythmic  waves — 

As  if  in  ripplings — like  sweet  lullabys — 

Or  thunderous  rushings  into  near-by  caves — 

'Twould  tell  how  Giants,  in  the  days  of  yore, 

Would  pave  a  Causeway  to  yon  Scottish  shore. 

Whate'er  the  hindrance  met — no  legends  say — 
Well-versed  those  Gaelic  Giants  in  their  art  ; 

Their  columns,  made  in  sections,  rise  today, 
With  every  part  dropped  deftly  into  part. 

Symmetric  forms !    Clever  indeed  the  hand 

To  make  from  lava-flow,  great  columns  stand. 

[93] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 

'Twould  seem  their  will,  to  be  remembered  long, 

Impressions  personal  are  seen  today ; 
A  profile  perfect — gazing  out  from  stone — 

With  fixed,  determined  mien — as  if  to  say— 
"Our  race,  'twould  seem,  is  ended  on  this  earth! 
But  say  not  so !    We  may  have  second  birth." 

"We  may  return,  who  knows?  and  wrestle  hard! 

And  once  more  pit  our  strength  against  the  rocks ! 
Meanwhile — Bengore  and  Fairhead,  standing  guard, 

Will  keep  an  Irish  eye  upon  the  Scots. 
For  Centuries  coming,  will  our  columns  last — 
And  tell  the  sleepings  of  long  Centuries  past." 


]V{ELROSE  ABBEY 

There,  where  the  Tweed  flows  close  to  Abbotsford, 
Where  Master-spirit  lived — and  still  does  live;  — 

For  long  as  "  Waverley"  is  read  and  loved, 
So  long,  of  richest  store  'twill  freely  give. 

There — near  at  hand — is  what  we'd  call  a  dream, 

Were  it  not  part  of  a  substantial  scene. 

[94] 


m 


".Vo   -t- (>/><;•  chantlny   heard  iiithin  its   "walls  — 
.N  'i  long   Tc  Dennis,  and  to  prayer  —  no  calls 


MELROSE     ABBEY 


We  say,  as  sunbeams  creep  along  its  eaves, 

And  chase  each  other  'mong  the  "curly  green  "- 

What  peaceful  spirit  is  it  that  pervades 

In  this — of  Scotland's  ruins — rightful  Queen! 

No  vesper  chanting  heard  within  its  walls — 

No  long  Te  Deums,  and  to  prayer — no  calls. 


Only  the  birds  to  tell  the  story  now, 

How  monks  had  wandered  during  hours  for  sleep  ; 
Had  sung  their  mass  at  midnight,  soft  and  low, 

And  breathed  their  Misereres — long  and  deep. 
We  wander,  as  the  evening  shadows  fall — 
And  hear — or  think  we  hear — that  midnight  call. 


Still  does  the  wee  face  smile  on  outer  wall — 
Unmindful  of  the  time-worn  slabs  around : 

With  open  mouth,  the  gargoyle-pig  would  call 
From  place  of  vantage  high  above  the  ground. 

Still  do  we  wander,  as  the  moonbeams  soft 

Light  up  the  faces  of  the  saints  aloft. 


[95] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 

Soft,  as  by  fairy  brush,  they  cover  all— 

Till  flying  buttress  seems  aglow  with  light ; 

Creeping  through  great  East  window — down  the  wall, 
Chasing  from  chancel  every  thought  of  night  — 

Touching  a  capital — till  curly  leaf 

Comes  out  in  clear-cut,  beautiful  relief. 


What  would  old  David  First  be  apt  to  say, 

If — peradventure — known  are  mundane  things- 

Where  corner-stone  he  laid  in  bygone  day, 
Is  still  a  shrine,  to  which  past  history  clings  ; 

Where  still  the  heart  of  Bruce  rests  undisturbed— 

His  hourly  requiem  sung  by  passing  bird. 


And  good  Saint  Bride !    Through  many  ages  past, 
She  here  has  stood  in  sanctimonious  pose — 

On  well-wrought  pedestal,  her  lot  is  cast — 

Scarce  heeding  Time — nor  how  it  comes  nor  goes. 

The  face  wears  stoic  look,  not  pious  tone — 

'Tis  long — for  e'en  a  saint — to  stand  alone. 


[96] 


THE     KNIGHT  WOOD     TREE 


We  question  —  Melrose!  if  in  palmy  days, 
Thy  wondrous  charm  was  beautiful  as  now  ? 

When  nave  and  choir  reechoed  priestly  lays, 
And  prayer  succeeded  prayerful  entrance  vow. 

Where,  then,  were  moonbeams  playing  hide  and  seek; 

And  where,  the  birdlings  nestling  in  their  sleep? 

Thou'rt  lovely  now !  so  peaceful !  so  at  rest ! 

So  full  of  harmony  in  every  line ! 
Vaulting  and  Norman  arches  both  attest 

How  long,  in  unison,  they've  conquered  time. 
Thy  charms  today — for  grandeur  past — atone! 
Thou  art  a  dream !  held  fast  in  traceried  stone. 


THE  KNIGHTWOOD  TREE 
MONARCH  OF  THE  NEW  FOREST,  ENGLAND 

To  W.  B.  D. 

No  insect  stirred !  no  song  of  bird ! 

No  earthly,  nor  unearthly  sound  was  heard. 

The  very  air  seemed  wont  to  share 
That  wondrous  quiet  lurking  everywhere. 

[97l 


THOUGHTS    AS     THEY    CAME 

Wild  horses  roam,  hard  by,  at  home, 

And  cattle  chew  the  cud,  in  groups,  alone — 

All  o'er  these  moors — where  chill  wind  blows, 
And  where,  like  mantle  spread,  the  heather  grows. 

But  here — no  rude,  loud  sounds  intrude, 
Just  silence  deep — in  forest  solitude. 

The  world  is  ours,  beneath  these  boughs, 

Where  dim,  Cathedral-light,  the  old  oak  showers. 

A  sheltered  nest  in  forest  vast, 
Nirvana-like,  in  somber,  passive  rest. 

Soft  shadows  fell,  and  seemed  to  tell 

How  night  found  starless  home  within  that  dell. 

And  we — just  we — stepped  noiselessly — 

As  drew  the  veil  around  the  Knightwood  Tree. 


[98] 


Seated,  with   sunliyht   through  stained  iv'tndotvs  streaming, 
Xanylit   but  weird  silence  filling  aisles  ami  nave" 


CATHEDRAL     ORGAN      ECHOES 


CATHEDRAL  ORGAN  ECHOES 

Seated,  with  sunlight  through  stained  windows  streaming, 
Naught  but  weird  silence  filling  aisles  and  nave, 

Peaceful  the  thoughts  that  came  o'er  senses  stealing, 
Till  all  things  worldly  seem  to  slowly  fade. 

No  footfall  heard!  no  sound  on  marble  flooring! 

Only  the  saints  in  glass — to  hear  our  call ; 
They,  with  their  upraised  eyes,  and  lips,  adoring 

The  unseen  God  —  and  Father  of  us  all. 

Silence  profound!  but — is  it  sound  or  seeming? 

We  and  the  Saints  in  close  Communion  there  — 
When — like  a  whisper — rose  such  sweet  refraining — 

As  if,  by  angel  hands,  it  called  to  prayer. 

Chord  rose  on  chord!  now  softly — and  now  swelling! 

Still  the  same  symphony  amid  high  arches  borne — 
Held  by  them  quivering — then — like  echoes  fading — 

Only  to  swell  again,  as  if  by  Heavenly  Throng. 

[99] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


"Wherefore  with  angels — and  archangels" — chanting, 
While  we,  in  rapture,  catch  the  spirit  song ; 

Faint — scarcely  heard — mid  lofty  rafters  straying — 

"Wherefore  with  angels — with  angels — angels—  —gone 


HOLLAND 

Far  and  away  stretch  fertile  pasture  lands, 

Their  level  surfaces  well  dotted  o'er 
With  grazing  herds.    Where  windmills  turn  like  fans, 

Just  lazily — unchanged  since  days  of  yore. 

Green  stretch  of  flooring — smooth,  and  but  disturbed 
As  Holstein  Brindle — clad  in  black  and  white — 

Paces  her  rounds,  and  chews  her  endless  cud 
From  break  of  day  to  uneventful  night. 

Anon  a  narrow  highway  stretches  on, 

Perhaps  a  little  raised  beyond  the  fields — 

Whose  green  and  fertile  sides  hang  close  upon 
The  lazy  water-strip  which  intervenes. 

[  100  ] 


Specific  places  sho-iv  a  prideful  thouyhl .' 
The  snowy  caps   of  near-by   J'olendatn" 
(See  pai;e  102) 


HOLLAND  &fl 

Water !    'Tis  everywhere !    'Neath  street  and  home  ! 

Even  the  human  nest  is  perched  on  piles ! 
What  though  the  sea  invades  with  splash  and  foam, 

And  buildings  stand  on  stilts  for  miles  and  miles. 

What  though  it  long  has  sought  and  fought  to  win, 
And  crept  with  stealthy  swirl  upon  the  land ; 

Or — checked  by  dike-defense — comes  thundering  in. 
With  hopes  to  lay  a  final  conquering  hand. 

Futile  its  efforts  in  this  constant  fray. 

Men,  too,  have  fought!    Fought  long  and  grandly,  too! 
Are  fighting  now,  to  keep  the  sea  at  bay — 

And  prove  what  odds  great  courage  can  subdue. 

Here  'tis  that  Rembrandt  lived — and  here  we  find 

A  glorious  canvas  in  its  birthright  place ; 
Result  of  genius  great,  and  art  combined, 

A  powerful  Master's  rich-toned  Master-piece. 

Fine  grouping  in  "The  Night  Watch"!    Tense  and  clear! 

Each  face  would  merit  add  to  artist's  name — 
If  quite  apart  on  canvas  could  appear, 

Each  showing  Master-touch,  might  rise  to  fame. 

[101] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 

And  Franz  Hals,  too!  Whose  twinkling  merriment 
Inspires  a  smile,  in  spite  of  grouch  or  gloom — 

We're  prone  to  think  an  hour  with  Hals  well  spent ; 
We  catch  his  spirit  and  we  feel  in  tune. 

Smiles  scatter  smiles !    And  e'en  unconsciously 
We  breathe  the  freer,  scarcely  knowing  why. 

Lighter  of  heart — and  catching,  happily, 
A  little  joy  to  scatter  by  and  by. 

Our  interest  widens !    And  we  let  it  stray 

Off  beyond  cities,  with  their  treasured  art. 
Near  by  are  islands  of  the  Zuyderzee, 

Where  life  and  habits  seem  a  thing  apart. 

Where  styles  are  legion  in  a  local  dress, 

We  scarce  know  which,  and  where,  should  hold  the  palm ; 
Each  island  has  its  own !    All  picturesque, 

And  all  with  strong  vividity  in  tone. 

Specific  places  show  a  prideful  thought ! 

The  snowy  caps  of  near-by  Volendam  — 
Head-bands  of  brass — or  gold — or  silver  wrought, 

And  temple-spirals  worn  in  Amsterdam. 
[  102  ] 


"A  Hebe  In-rct    Shr,  -.iit/1   t/i,    h,i.\;,m  arms! 
Exposed  alike   tfj   heat  and  jny'id  air  " 
(See  pa.ee  i  04  ) 


HOLLAND 


Heirlooms,  oft'-times!    Most  treasured  ornaments! 

And  though  so  picturesque  on  temple  worn, 
To  wear  the  spiral  gracefully — one  thinks 

One  must  to  spirals  have  been  haply  born. 

We'd  fain  give  Marken  praise  for  brilliant  red  — 
And  blue — and  gay  and  general  quaint  attire; 

Where  chrome-like  curl  hangs  either  side  the  head, 
And  boys  to  manly  garb  do  not  aspire. 

"No  boys" — quoth  one!    "All  girls  within  the  home?" 
No  romping  boys  of  early,  tender  years? 

As  till  to  age  of  seven  they  have  grown, 
They  wear  the  same  apparel  sister  wears. 

******* 

And  here  our  fancy  takes  us  back  to  rest 

Where  ring  the  sleepless  bells  of  Middelburg ; 

Only  the  bells  keep  wide-awake !    All  else 
Lives  in  an  active  ease,  we'd  ne'er  disturb. 

Not  so  old  Veere1 !    Minus  hopes  and  fears, 
Her's  is  a  strange  siesta !    Long  and  deep ! 

We  wonder  will  she  doze  through  endless  years, 
Or — is  it  like  to  Rip  Van  Winkle  sleep? 

1  As  if  Veerie. 

[I03l 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

So  still  the  streets!  One  fears  to  speak  aloud, 
Lest  such  hilarity  disturb  the  fisher-folk  — 

Or  dreaming  artists  seated — start  at  sound — 
And  drop,  alas !  a  false,  unsteady  stroke. 

Sleep,  little  Veere !    Sleep !    Thy  pulse  beats  low, 
Thy  days  are  waning  in  an  evening  light  ; 

We'll  seek,  by  narrow  highway — greater  glow, 
And  tarry  where  the  bells  ring  day  and  night  — 

In  quaint  old  Middelburg !    'Tis  here  we'll  stay 

And  sip  the  flavor  of  an  old-time  town ; 
We'll  linger  long  enough  for  market-day 

To  bring  the  clustering  groups  in  cap  and  gown. 

No  scanty  gowns  are  these — nor  are  they  worn 
By  slender  forms — with  grace  adown  the  lines; 

Rather  a  fullness — which  is  broad  as  long, 
For  maid  of  Middelburg  to  breadth  inclines. 

A  Hebe  here?    She,  with  the  buxom  arms! 

Exposed  alike  to  heat  and  frigid  air. 
We  mortals  differ  as  to  woman's  charms! 

These  rounded  maids  would  yield  to  sylphs  elsewhere. 

[  104] 


"Are   they   not  puppets?  —  or,  at   least,   on  sho\v? 
'  II  omen  in   miniature' — were  prone  to  say 


HOLLAND 

The  wee  folks,  too,  are  sure  the  quaintest  things! 

With  blooming  hip  and  cut-off  mother-gown ; 
Like  dressed-up  dolls — to  which  no  childhood  clings- 

As  broad  across  as  are  they  up  and  down. 

Gazing,  we  wonder — do  they  think  and  play? 

Are  they  not  puppets?  or,  at  least,  on  show? 
"Women  in  miniature" — we're  prone  to  say, 

So  unlike  happy  childhood  that  we  know. 

Unlike,  and  yet — each  "to  the  Manor  born!" 
Does  not  parental  influence  give  a  tone? 

Some  little  faces  seem  of  childhood  shorn, 
Some  radiate  the  sunshine  of  the  home. 

And  now  again  the  question  comes — and  oft'  — 
Where  do  we  find  the  greater  interest  lay? 

In  well-grown  cities,  with  their  treasured  art, 
Or  in  these  unchanged  nooks,  tucked  well  away? 

Both  are  such  endless  source  of  wonderment ! 

And  here,  we  homage  yield  to  powers  that  be. 
For  love  of  Country,  stands  this  Monument! 

These  lands  of  Holland,  rescued  from  the  sea. 

[105] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 


TO  S.  S. 

IN  MEMORY  OF  A  DELIGHTFUL  TOUR  THROUGH 

THE  HEART  OF  FRANCE,  AND  PARTICULARLY 

TO  THE  CATHEDRAL  TOWN  OF  BOURGES 

A  little  town,  where  once  were  Romans  dwelling, 
And  men,  in  togas,  wandered  up  and  down— 

Through  rambling  streets,  their  tales  of  valor  telling — 
Of  how  they  fought  and  gained  this  Gallic  town. 

'Twas  subject  to  great  Caesar's  throne, 

Before  the  Infant  Christ  was  born. 


Historic,  too,  as  years  on  years  kept  growing, 
And  little  Bourges,  in  Fifteenth  Century  days, 

Gave  France  a  King!    Eleventh  Louis !    Showing 
A  reign  of  craft  and  gain,  through  sordid  ways. 

A  man,  whose  life  did  strongly  blend 

Shrewd  cruelty  to  bitter  end. 

[106] 


"  //'c  /><7».tc,  rt.s  io///y   tii-iliyht  falls  — 
77«-H  />,;».«  liithin  Cathrtlral  -calls'' 


TO     S.    S. 

But  'tis  not  now  of  cold  past  facts  we're  thinking, 

But  of  our  visit  on  an  Autumn  day ; 
Just  as  the  sun  in  yonder  west  was  sinking, 

Sending  through  old  stained  glass  a  lingering  ray. 
We  pause,  as  softly  twilight  falls — 
Then  pass  within  Cathedral  walls. 


Here  and  there  amid  the  shadows — 
Here  and  there  where  darkness  fell, 

Knelt  a  suppliant  child  of  Heaven, 
Man  or  woman — who  could  tell? 

Wrapped  in  shadow  so  profound — 

Scarce  we  breathed !    'Twas  holy  ground ! 


Outlined  faint  are  massive  pillars, 
Caught  by  vaultings  far  o'erhead ; 

Holding  arches  and  triforium, 
In  their  grasp  of  stone.    'Tis  said 

Thus  for  centuries  they  have  stood, 

Sentinels  in  this  House  of  God. 

[  107] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 


Silence  awesome !  one  could  feel  it ! 

Towering  nave  and  vaulted  dome — 
Seemed  the  vestibule  of  Heaven, 

Ante-chamber  to  the  Throne. 
Lost  was  Earth  in  shadowy  past — 
We  were  gaining  Heaven  at  last ! 


Holy  spot,  so  fraught  with  blessings, 
God's  own  children  sought  Him  there  ; 

Nearer  seemed  He  in  the  silence 
Of  this  holy  hour  of  prayer. 

Softly  still  the  shadows  grew, 

Aisles  and  nave  were  lost  to  viewr. 


Still  these  pilgrims — men  or  women- 
Prayed  in  silence,  bending  low  ; 

Talking  to  the  Saints  of  Heaven, 
Words  no  mortal  e'er  would  know. 

Faintest  motion  stirred  the  air, 

Click  of  rosary,  held  in  prayer. 


[108] 


"Surely  eyes,  icith   »ir 
Ltiok  Cfj'/A   sympathy 


TO     S.    S. 

Light  appeared — or  semblance  of  one, 
Placed  by  Verger — here  and  there — 

Just  enough  to  show — mid  shadow- 
Outlines  of  a  Prie-Dieu. 

Where,  though  other  faiths  professing, 

One  could  kneel  and  ask  a  blessing. 

Shrine  of  Mary !    Why,  we  question, 
Is  Thy  shrine  a  favorite  spot  ? 

Is  it  that,  mid  scenes  celestial, 
Earthly  pangs  are  not  forgot  ? 

Thou,  whose  heart  was  sorely  torn, 

Know'st  the  griefs  by  mortals  borne. 

Surely  eyes,  with  mercy  gleaming, 

Look  with  sympathy  replete 
Down  on  those,  their  earth-loads  bearing, 

Bowed  devoutly  at  Thy  feet. 
Mother-Love  divine,  they  see, 
Intercession  claim  from  Thee. 


[  109] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 

Closed  behind  us  are  the  portals 
Of  that  ancient  pile  of  stone. 

Rich  and  peasant !    Light  and  shadow ! 
Sacred  silence !    Nave  and  dome, 

All  belong  to  memories  past — 

Ever  ours — while  day-dreams  last. 

Ours  to  see  those  Faithful  kneeling ! 

Ours  to  hear  that  click  of  bead ! 
Ours  to  know  the  prayer  ascending — 

"  Holy  Mother,  intercede ! " 
Mental  picture!    Clear — as  when 
Spellbound  by  St.  Etienne. 


AN  HOUR  WITH  THE  VENUS  DE  MILO 

Far  down  the  line — between  a  silent  host, 

Where  Mars  and  Psyche  would  our  footsteps  stay — 

And  those  with  togas  o'er  the  shoulder  tossed, 
As  if  to  Forum,  they  would  wend  their  way. 

[no] 


AN  HOUR  WITH  THE  VENUS  DE  MILO 

Down  beyond  portals — on  beyond  an  arch, 

Passing  old  porphery  forms  from  buried  lands — 

Youthful  Apollos  passed — yet  on  we  march, 
To  where  the  Venus  of  the  Gallery  stands. 

Many  there  are,  supporting  disc  or  urn, 
Some  mutilated  ones — yes!  headless  too; 

Diana — with  but  strong  and  upraised  arm — 
Or  letting  go,  from  bow — an  arrow  true. 

"Venus  Marine,"  or  Venus  as  "L'Amour," 
Enough  to  feed  the  world  with  classic  food  — 

And  if  they're  standing,  broken-limbed  galore — 
Just  think  how  many  Centuries  they've  stood. 

Far  down  the  line,  to  where  beyond  this  host 
"Venus  de  Milo"  stands  within  her  throne; 

Hither  we  come,  in  admiration  lost — 

Here — where  she  holds  admiring  Court  alone. 

As  echo  to  our  thoughts,  we  hear  one  say, 

"Others  thought  good,  I  pass — and  here  advance! 

From  this,  I  know  not  how  to  turn  away! 
Perfect  in  form!    Venus  par  excellence!" 

[ml 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


LUXEMBOURG  GARDENS  AND  GALLERY 

We  walk  through  gardens  filled  with  shrubs  in  flower, 

And  under  shade  of  avenues  of  trees ; 
Which  shade  is  growing  daily  less  in  power, 

As  fall  to  ground  the  early  Autumn  leaves. 

Whate'er  effect  climatic  influence  sheds, 

They  fall  indeed,  e'er  Autumn  days  have  come ; 

Nor  do  they  change  their  greens  for  brilliant  reds, 
But  slip  away — as  "Brownies" — one  by  one. 

One  sees  at  hand  the  old-time  Odeon, 

Where  plays  go  on  —  and  did  —  in  days  long  gone; 

One  sees — through  vista — the  great  Pantheon, 
Where  heroes  sleep  beneath  its  mighty  dome. 

Like  looking  backward  is  this  atmosphere, 

So  far  removed  the  Paris  of  today ; 
One  finds  an  old-time  fragrance  lingering  here. 

Which  neither  winds,  nor  years,  can  chase  away. 


LUXEMBOURG  GARDENS  AND  GALLERY 


These  gardens  spread  their  flowers  for  such  as  we 
To  loiter  in !  to  catch  sweet  breath  of  cheer ! 

To  read  on  Palace  walls  strange  destiny, 
And  breathe  the  air  of  bygone  Paris  here. 

No  kingly  splendor  lights  these  walls  within, 
Echoes — alone — of  brilliant  Empire  days; 

Gone  are  the  "jours  des  Fetes,"  and  lights  are  dim, 
The  Palace  lends  itself  to  later  ways. 

And  we  will  enter  where  a  door  swings  wide, 
Where  forms  in  chiseled  marble  greet  the  eye ; 

Yet  pause  an  instant,  e'er  we  step  inside, 
To  look — with  pity — as  wre're  passing  by. 

A  group  of  blind,  quite  veiled  from  light  of  day; 

A  wounded  dog — and  child,  with  baby  face 
In  arms  of  poor  and  pale-faced  mother  lay, 

Looking,  in  baby  fashion,  into  space. 

And  true  to  life — an  old  and  frigid  pair, 

Whose  scanty  wraps  their  shivering  forms  enfold  ; 

Such  suffering,  blind — and  hungry  ones — grouped  there, 
We  want  to  feed  and  house  them  from  the  cold. 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

So  like  to  want !  so  pitiful !    Yet  those 

With  cold,  white  arms  seem  beckoning  us  within ; 
Where  tresses  long,  and  sometime  garment  flows 

O'er  form  of  beauty.    Chiseled  thoughts  of  men. 

They  move  not,  as  we  pass — nor  when  we  pause 
In  admiration,  bowed  at  sculptor's  shrine ; 

Pale  lips  seem  wont  to  speak,  and  loving  eyes 
Look  into  ours — half  human,  half  divine. 

They  hold  us,  so  to  speak,  in  feelings  fond, 
So  like  old  friends !  we  pass  them  with  regret. 

Others,  we  know,  are  in  the  rooms  beyond  — 
Whose  colorings  live  in  vivid  memory  yet. 

Rosa  Bonheur  is  driving  cattle  on, 

O'er  earth  upturned,  against  a  half-tone  sky; 
The  morning  hours,  and  mid-day  too,  have  gone, 

And  working  time  is  slowly  passing  by. 

A  strong  and  telling  face  stands,  where  the  light 
Falls  from  an  attic  window  on  his  work  ; 

Paul  Mathey's  brush,  with  wondrous  touch  of  might, 
Life-action  gives  in  vigorous  Master-stroke. 

[114] 


LUXEMBOURG     GARDENS     AND     GALLERY 

Duran,  upon  the  other  side,  has  left 

A  head,  not  handsome,  but  with  lips  apart — 

As  if  to  speak  the  keenness  that  is  felt, 

And  shown,  on  canvas,  by  the  painter's  art. 

We  hear  the  clink  of  money,  while  we  scan 
Day's  payment  to  the  workers  of  the  soil ; 

While,  to  the  fore,  a  strong-veined,  bronze-faced  man, 
In  sturdy  pose,  marks  well  the  son  of  toil. 

The  bundled  wheat,  the  peasant's  atmosphere, 
Where  Mother-love  and  toil  are  side  by  side ; 

All  tend  to  make  "Les  Moissonneurs"  appear 
The  simple  life — true  life — exemplified. 

Time  moves  along!  so  fast — so  wondrous  fast — 
And  other  colorings  call  us  e'er  we  go ; 

The  lovely  flesh  tints !  the  dead  child  at  rest ! 
The  Mother's  agony,  of  Bouguereau. 

Sad,  sorrowing  canvas  this!    It  leaves  a  pain. 

We  know  the  aching  of  that  Mother-heart ; 
We  want  the  little  child  to  live  again, 

Or,  that  "The  Mary"  comfort  may  impart. 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

Unnoticed  thus  pass  all  the  morning  hours, 
So  full  of  interest,  we  would  bid  them  stay ! 

Another  lingering  look  we  claim  as  ours — 
To  serve  for  memory,  e'er  we  turn  away. 

An  Artist's  mother,  seated  in  repose, 

In  her  own  corner — like  a  thing  apart ; 

We  stand  beside  her,  till  to  life  it  grows, 

Then  leave  her — as  the  honored  guest  of  Art. 


THE  SWISS  STATION  SIGNAL 

A  welcome  warm  to  that  old  "Ding-dong"  ! 
Like  a  memory  sweet — or  a  childhood  song. 
Clearly  and  strong — "Ding-dong!"  "Ding-dong!" 
Yet  the  train  heeds  not !  nor  moves  it  along ! 

'Tis  waiting  the  guard  and  a  "time-up"  knell, 
Which  comes — "Ding-dong!" — from  his  signal  bell; 
It  comes — "Ding-dong!" — but  in  time-honored  way 
Is  saying — "No  haste ! "    "  Make  a  comfortable  stay ! ' 

[116] 


LAUTERBRUNNEN 


"  Ding-dong ! "-  -"  Ding-dong ! " — Are  we  here  to  remain  ? 
"Ding-dong!"-  -"Ding-dong!" — swings  sweetly  again! 
Once  more — "Ding-dong!" — but  the  engine  knows — 
'Tis  a  "send-off"  sure — for  it  really  goes. 


LAUTERBRUNNEN 

Who  but  knows  that  Alpine  Valley, 

Within  green-grown,  granite  walls  ? 
Vale  through  which  one  oft'-times  wanders 

To  the  sound  of  yodel  calls : 
Where — on  upper  ledge — rests  Miirren  ! 

Guard  alike  of  foaming  fall  — 
Green-clad  nooks — and  glacial  stretches — 

And  the  soft  Sefinen  Tal. 

Who  has  toiled  down  side  of  mountain, 
Over  stream — o'er  rocks  and  shale  — 

Fails  to  know  the  locked-in  treasures 
Of  that  Lauterbrunnen  Vale? 


THOUGHTS    AS     THEY     CAME 

Her  murmurings  soft !  her  silences ! 

Her  stretch  of  pastures  green  ! 
The  luncheon-halt  at  Trummelbach ! 

Her  blooms  and  beauties — seen 

By  leisure  ramble  only, 

And  when  Time  spreads  out  afar — 
And  one  can  pause  to  ponder 

On  God's  Great,  Creative  Power. 
Why  not  now  a  morning  ramble 

O'er  the  traversed  Wengern  Alp  ? 
Skirting  Eiger,  Monch,  and  Jungfrau — 

Which  eternal  frost-flakes  wrap — 

In  a  glittering  shroud  of  grandeur — 

From  whose  depths  is  borne  the  roar 
Of  a  rolling,  crushing  avalanche ! 

Repeating  o'er  and  o'er 
Its  mad,  wild  call  for  freedom! 

And  breaking  from  its  hold, 
Falls  thundering — till  its  fury 

In  a  muttering  heap  is  rolled. 

[118] 


LAUTERBRUNNEN 


In  wandering  on,  we'll  leisurely 

Climb  yonder  modest  peak ! 
And  there,  from  slopes  of  Lauberhorn — 

The  morning's  glory  seek — 
Mid  Nature's  outstretched  wonder-works, 

Strewn  broadcast  o'er  this  land ; 
And  in  stupendous,  myriad  ways 

Proclaims  The  Master-Hand. 

Calling  now  in  meadow  softness, 

And  anon  in  heights  of  awe, 
For  a  soulful  recognition 

Of  His  Great,  Creative  Power! 
Over  yon — in  glistening  sunlight, 

Tower  great  peaks  of  endless  snow ! 
While  the  turf  upon  the  meadows 

Lifts  its  blades  for  winds  to  blow. 

Soft,  these  winds  bring  bird-note  to  us, 

And  the  ripple  of  a  rill. 
How  we  love  it  here !    While  Nature 

Whispers— " Peace  thy  Being  fill!" 

[H9] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


Then  comes  sound  of  bigger  streamlet, 
Laughing — chattering  as  it  flows! 

Glancing  up  from  mossy  shelter, 
Softly  gurgling  on  it  goes. 

Now  in  green-fringed  pool  we  find  it 
Basking — shimmering  in  the  sun  ! 

Captive,  but  for  little  moment— 
Haply  freed  —  goes  laughing  on  — 

Flowing  down  and  flowing  ever! 
Helter-skelter!    Now  in  play! 

Half  concealed  at  times  by  verdure- 
Then  in  quiet — hid  away. 

Ah,  ye  little  mountain  streamlet, 
How  like  rhythm  is  your  song! 

With  your  music  and  your  laughter, 
Speed  away  and  babble  on ! 

Happy  Sprite!    What  wondrous  pleasure- 
Catching  sunbeams  all  day  long! 

Reflex  of  yon  dome  of  azure. 
This  is  how  we  catch  your  song. 

[  120] 


"./;;</  :;////;»  you   village   nsliiu/, 


ff'ifli  the  stars  their  vigils  keeping, 


LAUTERBRUNNEN 


"I  go  merrily  all  day  through. 

Babbling  on  as  falls  the  dew ! 
Twinkling  stars  all  joyously 

Keep  their  midnight  tryst  with  me ! 
So  I  dance  and  babble  on, 

Ceasing  not  when  breaks  the  dawn  ! 
Sunbeams  then  and  I  together 

Dance  along  and  babble  ever." 

Dance  along,  dear  mountain  streamlet, 

Keeping  pace  with  fleeting  hours ! 
While  the  sun,  well  in  the  zenith, 

Bids  us  on,  lest  twilight  lowers. 
We  would  cross  the  Kline  Scheidegg, 

And  e'er  vesper  bells  are  tolled, 
Seek  and  find  a  quiet  shelter 

In  the  Vale  of  Grindelwald. 

Where  the  Black  Liitschine's  Sowings 
On  the  Alpine  air  are  borne, 

And  one  catches  snow-capped  glimpses 
Of  the  veteran  Wetterhorn. 

[121] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 

Other  glories  there  await  us! 

Giant  peaks  and  murmuring  streams; 
On  we'll  go !    This  Pass  will  take  us 

Over  varied  Alpine  scenes. 

Thus  with  dejeuner 's  long  halting, 

And  glad  loiterings  by  the  way, 
Will  the  ramble  of  the  morning 

Meet  the  sleeping  of  the  day. 
And  within  yon  village  resting, 

Flooded  with  the  moon's  soft  beams, 
With  the  stars  their  vigils  keeping, 

We  will  dream  our  Alpine  dreams. 


A  CORNER  IN  LUCERNE 

A  little  spot — well  shaded  o'er  with  green, 
A  little  darksome — always  so  serene! 
So  quiet — one  most  fears  to  stir  the  air 
With  sound  of  voice !  one  feels  so  pensive  there ! 
A  silence — broken  but  by  moving  feet — 
Still  coming — coming — to  this  weird  retreat. 

[  122] 


'Aye!  had  a  aeiiius  found  no  outlet  else  — 
Enouyh- — to  leave  such   powerful  masterpiece' 


A     CORNER     IN     LUCERNE 


Now  and  again — a  bird  stops  in  its  flight, 
And  pecks  in  gravel,  for  the  crumb  in  sight — 
Then  off  again !  he  longs  not  here  to  stay, 
'Tis  not  the  place  for  laughter — nor  his  lay. 
Far  more  in  keeping — and  like  sad  refrain, 
Is  note  which  comes  to  us — and  comes  again — 

From  crow  hard  by — with  long,  deep-sounding  caw- 
Repeating — so  we  think — "No  more!  No  more!" 
"Valiant  in  death!  and  faithful  to  last  hour — 
No  more  will  yon  great  head  be  reared  in  power ! 
No  more  those  noble  Swiss  he  represents, 
For  Bourbon  Fleur-de-lis  will  make  defense." 
******* 

Aye!  had  a  genius  found  no  outlet  else — 
Enough — to  leave  such  powerful  masterpiece! 
So  long  as  chiseled  stone  and  time  remain, 
So  long  will  live  the  great  Thorwaldsen's  name. 
We  feel  his  presence — feel  his  spirit  keeps 
A  nightly  vigil  while  his  Lion  sleeps. 


[123] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 


TWO  NIGHTS  ON  THE  SUSTEN  PASS 

Two  nights  amid  vast  solitude ! 

Scarce  sound  ! — till  day  let  fall 
The  sun  behind  yon  sky-line  range, 

Then  came  the  goatherd's  call. 
All  through  the  day  no  sight  of  herd, 

No  tinkling  bell !    No  sign 
Of  life  among  the  neighboring  crags, 

Till  on  yon  upper  line — 

Far  and  away  from  goatherd, 

As  he  crooned  his  milking  call— 
A  dot !    A  tiny  speck  along 

That  topmost,  crag-like  wall. 
And  then  more  dots!  and  as  he  crooned, 

"  Coights !  Coights !  Coights !  Hey !  Warte !  Warte !  Warte ! " 
It  almost  seemed  those  dots  showed  life 

And  bounded  —  as  in  sport. 

[I24] 


TWO     NIGHTS     ON     THE     SUSTEN     PASS         &IY2ZJ 

^7^ 

Strange  personality!    And  droll! 

His  weathered  face — hard-lined  ; 
He  rises — walks — and  rests  again. 

With  stool  strapped  on  behind. 
With  eyes  firm  fixed  !    Each  gesture  taut ! 

So  immobile  his  pose ! 
"Coights!  Coights!  Coights!    Hey!  Warte!  Warte!  Warte!" 

Still  on  the  air  arose. 

More  dots !    More  bounds !    More  headlong  leaps ! 

These  dots  so  multiplied, 
E'en  as  we  gazed,  those  leaping  specks 

Spread  o'er  that  mountain-side. 
Whence  came  they  ?    How  their  day  been  spent 

In  realms  of  upper  air? 
We're  told  —  beyond  those  cold,  gray  crags 

Are  pastures  green  and  fair. 

We're  told  each  morn,  at  dawn  of  day, 

Starts  forth  that  little  herd, 
Making  its  wild,  but  certain  way 

To  pastures  undisturbed. 

[125] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

But  on  they  came!    With  leap  and  bound, 

And  tinkling  of  the  bell, 
Nearer  and  nearer !    Scurrying  home 

Ere  Alpine  shadows  fell. 

We  watched  them  through  the  milking  hour, 

And  wandered  in  between 
The  wee  ones,  full  of  frolic — 

And  their  elders,  so  serene. 
Then  in  old-time,  near-by  chalet, 

Under  shade  of  spreading  trees, 
Was  an  Old  Man  of  the  Mountain, 

Elbow  deep  in  embryo  cheese. 

So  patiently  the  grind  went  on, 

So  primitive  the  form  ; 
The  boiling — draining — deftly  done, 

No  churn — save  human  arm. 
Life  uneventful !    Quiet  days, 

Whose  hours  brought  little  change ; 
His  line  of  thought — his  untaught  ways, 

Bound  by  this  Mountain  Range. 

[126] 


TWO     NIGHTS     ON     THE     SUSTEN     PASS 


Unconscious  of  Earth's  Wonders ! 

Eyes  closed  in  mental  sleep ! 
Where  Nature  calls  in  whispers, 

And  in  tones  profound  and  deep. 
What — if  these  vales  waft  sweetness 

With  every  wind  that  blows, 
Or  tower  these  peaks  in  greatness 

With  sense  of  awe  enclosed  ? 

***** 

Two  nights  of  moonlight  splendor ! 

Where  the  stars  seemed  showering  down- 
With  touch,  like  fairy  finger, 

Gilding  soft  the  snow-white  gown 
Of  yonder  high  Steingletscher, 

Standing  a  royal  guard 
Between  the  Valley  of  the  Reuss 

And  Pass  of  St.  Gotthard. 

Oh !  the  joy  of  Mountain  wildness! 

Who  can  tell  its  boundless  charm  ? 
The  high  exuberance  one  feels ! 

The  glories  of  the  dawn ! 

[127] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


The  freedom  of  its  crag-bound  realms ! 

These — lifting  heads  on  high, 
Are  pointing — ever  pointing 

To  that  boundless  dome  of  sky. 

-***** 

We'll  move  on  now  toward  Wassen, 

Where,  like  "Mistress  of  the  Manse," 
Her  church  and  highway  solitude 

The  near-by  peaks  enhance. 
Where  engine  climbing — passes — 

Aye!  thrice  passes  quite  around, 
As  if  seeking  benediction 

Ere  it  quits  the  holy  ground. 

To  South'ard  leads  to  Italy, 

The  North — to  Lake  Lucerne; 
Should  Northward  be  the  route  today— 

Some  morrow — Southward  turn; 
Where  vines  of  sunny  Italy 

Like  garlands  soft  are  twined, 
Where  Art  and  Skies  of  Italy 

Are  gems  of  Worlds  combined. 

[128] 


THE     SWANS     OF     GENEVA 


THE  SWANS  OF  GENEVA 

Close  by  the  Juras,  where  the  Arve  and  Rhone, 
After  long,  arduous  flowing — quite  apart — 

Here  cease  to  lead  their  glacial  lives  alone, 

And  join  in  friendship — arms — if  not  the  heart. 

From  Vale  of  Chamounix,  one  found  its  way, 

Where  stern  Mont  Blanc  looks  on  that  dash  from  home : 

Eyeing,  with  calmness  cold,  those  waters  gray, 
E'en  as  they  mingle  with  the  limpid  Rhone. 

Like  Heaven's  blue,  this  last,  yet  side  by  side, 
Glistening  and  dancing  'neath  Geneva's  sun, 

Coquetting-like — by  cold,  gray  stream  defied, 
But  coyly  yielding,  when  they  flow  as  one. 

Just  e'er  they  make  their  peace — and  Leman  ends, 
Near  to  a  little  isle,  where  poplars  wave  ; 

Where  vivid  green  a  Summer  brightness  lends, 
And  foliage,  low-spread,  casts  alluring  shade  — 

[  129] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

There  are  the  feathered  Monarchs  of  the  Lake, 

Gliding  with  dignity,  with  heads  on  high  ;  ' 
No  fear  of  danger  does  their  courage  shake, 

Though  rapid  waters  halt,  e'er  rushing  by. 

There  have  they  prestige  held,  they  and  their  sires, 
Pure  in  their  beauty  white,  as  Alpine  snows ; 

Living  their  royal  lives,  for  years  on  years, 

"Hundreds  of  years!" — on  dit — pent  etre! —  who  knows? 

"On  dit!"    "On  dit!"    C'est  tres  facile  a  dire! 
Pourquoi  dit-on — "on  dit" — nest  pas  si  sur? 


SWISS  BELLS 

Tinkle!  tinkle!  mild-eyed  Brindle! 
Chew  the  cud,  while  making  jingle! 
By  the  measured  steps  you're  taking, 
Pasture-notes  are  softly  waking. 
Jingle  merrily,  sweet  bells! 
All  the  air  with  music  swells. 


"  There  liai-i:  they  frcstiye  held,  they  and  their  ; 
Pi/rc  in  their  beauty  ichlte,  fls  Alpine  SHOWS" 


SWISS     BELLS 


Hark!  the  Shepherd's  Alpine  horn 
Breaks  the  echoes  of  the  morn ; 
Touching  summits  far  aloft, 
Coming  back  in  cadence  soft — 
Soft  they  come — and  muffled  go- 
Back  to  fields  of  endless  snow. 

List !  another  tinkling  bell ! 
On  the  Mulct !  he,  as  well, 
Jingles — but  with  burdened  back — 
Trudging  under  heavy  pack — 
Patient  —  all-unconscious  twain  — 
He — and  Brindle — of  refrain. 

Ring  on — ring!  dear  bells  once  more! 
We  would  listen,  as  of  yore; 
Every  sound  with  music  rings! 
Every  note  some  memory  brings ! 
Every  tone  a  story  tells ! 
Ring  on — ring!  dear  Alpine  bells. 


THOUGHTS    AS     THEY     CAME 


FIVE  A.M.  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS 
EN  ROUTE  TO  LAUTERET,  ST.  GALIBIER 

Thanks  we  offer  for  the  glories  of  the  morning ! 

For  the  consciousness  of  beauty  which  is  ours ! 
For  the  splendor  of  the  sun-sleep  and  the  dawning ! 

And  the  Summer  days  made  up  of  myriad  joys. 

We  have  seen  the  peep  o'  day  among  the  mountains, 
We've  seen  the  dewdrops  spread,  like  jewels  rare — 

And  we  thought — perhaps  God's  Own — with  crystal  fountains, 
Had  walked  the  Earth — and  left  their  impress  there. 

Like  thought  from  Angel  Host — this  dear  suggestion— 

Of  their  coming  and  their  going  in  the  night ; 
For  with  Day-Queen's  rich  and  rosy  resurrection, 

All  our  jewels  gently  faded  out  of  sight. 

Ah!  Who  can  e'er  define  these  Alpine  glories? 

Seen  best  at  dawn — or  a  la  fin  du  jour, 
When  summit  crags — those  far-off  upper  stories — 

Are  lit  by  light  Divine!    Le  Bon  Dieu! 

[132] 


THE     LEVANT 


THE  LEVANT 

Fair  Italy !    How  wondrous  fair  thou  art ! 

And  yet  we  know  thy  beauties  but  in  part — 

Thy  rocky  coasts — thy  vales — and  hill-towns — all 

Come  back  forever,  with  a  siren  call. 

E'en  now  we  find  another  spot  to  haunt, 

Thy  picture-coast-line,  known  as  the  Levant. 

Green  are  the  vales,  which  open  on  the  sea, 
Hugging  the  bay — or  gulf — which  e'er  it  be; 
And  green  the  promontories,  to  their  tops — 
While  hid  in  shrubbery  deep  are  villa-dots. 
Ah,  Italy !    Thou  art  indeed  most  fair  ! 
So  manifold  the  beauties  thou  dost  share. 

Does  one  seek  rest  ?    Is  that  the  thought  and  aim  ? 
Then  Portofino  Kulm — the  point  to  gain  ; 
Where  Villa  Marguerita's  open  door 
Presents  the  best  of  care  and  frugal  store ; 
Whence  breaks  upon  the  sight,  enchanting  scenes, 
Till  one  can  fancy  'tis  a  land  of  dreams. 

[  133  1 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 


We've  left  the  vine — festooned  from  tree  to  tree — 
It  loves  the  South,  or  Central  Italy— 
But  here  are  finger  cypresses  still  found— 
Dark,  mid  the  gray  of  olive,  which  abound ! 
While  all  go  rambling  up  the  mountain-side, 
Whose  base  is  washed  by  Mediterranean  tide. 

Let  us  descend,  by  windings,  to  the  coast, 
And  see  the  villages — where — for  the  most 
The  women,  all — are  making  lace — the  while. 
The  men  hunt  coral,  off  a  neighboring  isle. 
A  happy  lot  of  toilers,  it  would  seem— 
All  taking  life  as  lightly  as  a  dream. 

Sometimes,  we  think  the  night-lights  twinkle  more 

Above  this  garden-like  Italian  shore ; 

Sometimes,  when  Halley's  star  trails  through  the  sky 

We  feel  the  solar  system  very  nigh. 

So  clear  the  air!  so  bright  the  sunset  glows!— 

So  filled  with  fragrance,  every  wind  that  blows. 


[134] 


B  E  L  L AG I O 


BELLAGIO 

Vain  th'  attempt  to  tell  of  charms  serene, 
Nestled  so  softly  'neath  Italian  skies — 

Bathed  by  blue  waters — rolling  in  between 
Her  shore — and  yon — where  Cadenabbia  lies. 

Holding  her  own  on  narrow  strip  of  land, 
On  which  she  rests  like  coy  and  happy  bride ; 

Como's  chameleon  waters  on  the  one — 
Lago  di  Lecco's  on  the  other  side. 

Como  spreads  far !    While  Lecco — but  an  Arm ! 

Both  laving  mountain-sides,  whose  varying  light — 
Now  mossy-green — is  roseate  in  the  morn — 

And  purple  with  the  shades  of  coming  night. 

Fair !    Wondrous  fair !    Dream-like,  Arcadian  scene ! 

In  vernal  terraced  beauty  overgrown, 
Thy  air  like  balm !    Thy  gardens  like  a  dream  ! 

A  " dolci  far  nienti"  life  thine  own. 

[135] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 


Not  always,  Como !  are  thy  waters  calm, 
Not  always  giving  back  high  Heaven's  blue ; 

We've  seen  thee  angered  at  the  coming  storm, 
And  toss  thy  white  caps  as  thy  fury  grew. 

Aye!  even  then — with  wildest  Nature  stirred, 

With  opening  skies — so  lowering — black  with  rage! 

We  knew  with  sunshine — thou,  like  Summer  bird, 
Would  ripple  rhythms  in  thy  mountain  cage. 

Thus  in  the  going — 'neath  an  azure  sky, 
Our  fair  Bellagio,  mid  wealth  of  green, 

Bids  us  come  back — when,  in  the  by  and  by, 
We  long  through  Summer  days  again  to  dream. 


ON  THE  SUMMIT  OF  MONTE  GENEROSO 

Bright  was  the  day,  and  each  majestic  peak 

Clear  silhouetted  'gainst  an  azure  sky ; 
The  world,  so  far  below,  seemed  fast  asleep, 

No  motion  visible!  no  noise  came  nigh — 
No  sound — save  that  of  far-off,  tinkling  bell, 
And  echo-like,  a  tone  from  belfry  fell — 

[136] 


THE     SUMMIT     OF     MONTE     GENEROSO 

So  far  below — we  saw  not  whence  that  sound  — 

We  only  knew  a  soft  and  muffled  tone 
Ascended — and,  in  upper  ether  found 

A  somewhere — where  to  fade  away  alone. 
Out  from  its  own  it  came,  to  haply  bear 
A  message — and  was  lost  in  upper  air. 

To  Westward  —  Monte  Rosa  and  great  peaks 
High  lift  their  heads  with  towering  Matterhorn  ; 

Far  down  their  sides,  a  snow-white  mantle  creeps, 
Renewed  forever — and  forever  worn. 

No  change  of  garb  these  virgin  sisters  know, 

Like  sacred  Order  of  "The  Peerless  Snow." 


Off  to  the  South  one  turns,  and  haply  finds 
A  stretch  of  green,  which  reaches  out  afar — 

The  Lombard  plain — backed  by  the  Apennines — 
Milano  visible  as  central  star. 

While  to  the  East,  fair  Como's  waters  flow, 

Guarding  their  rose-decked  queen  —  Bellagio. 


[137] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

Como,  Lugano — and  a  rippling  smile 

Comes  up  from  Lake  Maggiore's  limpid  breast ; 
And  over  all,  gay  sunbeams  dance  the  while, 

Lighting  an  instant  on  each  glistening  crest. 
Nature  unfolds  to  such  life-giving  rays, 
And  smiling  vineyards  find  maturing  days. 


Then  —  in  a  thought  of  time — is  summit  stormed 
By  hurrying,  scurrying  mass  of  veilings  thin— 

Spreading  in  rapid  pace,  till  they  have  formed 
A  closed  convention,  and  we  stand  within  — 

Surrounded  by  a  fleece-like,  grayish  pall, 

Which  might  as  well  be  hard,  gray,  granite  wall. 

So  quick  the  change  among  the  stratumed  piles, 

Where  clouds  play  pranks  with  old,  grim,  towering  peaks ; 

Because  the  God  of  Day  bestows  his  smiles, 

We  think  the  roguish  Cloud  King  calmly  sleeps. 

Chagrined,  he  may  retire  in  dire  remorse ; 

But  wakeful  ever,  with  a  tireless  force. 


[138] 


THE     SUMMIT     OF     MONTE     GENEROSO 

Sunshine  and  shadow  on  these  mountains  bold  ! 

Sunshine  and  shadow  in  each  human  life ! 
In  quick  succession,  they  the  mastery  hold, 

A  seeming  struggle  between  peace  and  strife. 
Yet  some  bright  souls  bring  only  into  light 
Their  sunshine — and  their  shadows  keep  from  sight. 

Of  them,  we're  prone,  unknowingly,  to  say, 

"A  joy  to  live!"    "No  wish  ungratified ! " 
"No  carried  cares,  nor  grinding  needs  know  they." 

" Coleur  de  rose!"    "All  life  idealized!" 
Sunshine  and  shadow  in  all  human  lives- 
May  we  not  see,  alone,  their  sunny  sides? 


From  here — life's  labyrinthian  workings  seem 
So  phantom-like !  so  like  mirage !  while  we 

Seem  to  have  gone  beyond  life's  fitful  dream, 
And  somehow  touched  a  vague  reality. 

The  more  attuned  to  Nature's  rhythmic  verse, 

Nearer  the  throbbing  of  the  universe. 


[139] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


DREAMING  IN  VENICE 

To  horrors  clustering  round  the  Bridge  of  Sighs — 
And  Doges'  Palace,  too — we'll  close  the  eyes; 
We'll  hear  no  footsteps  pace  that  passage  o'er — 
Slow,  measured  tread — whose  echo  falls  no  more. 

An  archway  still,  which  spans  the  water's  flow— 
Leading  to  silence  in  the  depths  below : 
We'll  draw  the  veil  which  screens  the  past  from  sight, 
Black,  hideous  scene!  born  not  of  day,  but  night. 

Upon  "La  Loggia,"  too — no  more  we'll  see — 
And  hear  go  forth  the  oft-called  death  decree : 
We'll  close  Falieri's  page  of  history  — 
With  those  whose  fates  were  sealed  in  mystery. 

We'll  bid  all  darksome  doings  pass  away, 
And  Venice  see — as  Venice  is  today — 
So  beautiful !    So  still !    So  light  of  air ! 
So  full  of  poetry  her  atmosphere — 

[  HO] 


DREAMING     IN     VENICE 


We  want  to  hold  her,  lest  she  fades  too  soon. 
We  want  to  dream — the  while  a  silvery  moon 
Falls  on  our  gondola — and  gondolier. 
And  Life! — What  is  it?    Where  its  care  and  fear? 

Whence  have  they  birth? — and  what — if  any  form? 
If  live  they  do — we'll  bid  them  both  begone! 
We  know  them  not !    Our  twinkling  stars  shine  clear ! 
Our  moonbeams  fall  on  naught  but  romance  here. 

We  want  to  watch  the  rise  of  snowy  crests — 
As  wave  on  wave  swells  in — nor  ever  rests — 
Halts  but  to  kiss  the  sands  of  inner  shore, 
Then  out  to  join  the  deepening  sea  once  more. 

We'd  watch  the  fairy  sunbeams  at  their  play, 
As  Lido's  merry  crowds  float  hours  away  ; 
We'd  stand  on  high — on  Campanile-tower — 
Choosing  for  time,  declining,  golden  hour — 

When  shadows  fall !    And  in  the  fading  East 
We  know,  though  out  of  sight — lies  old  Trieste. 
And  thus  we  dream!    And  dreaming  thus — we  say 
A  queenly  night  falls  soft  on  balmy  day. 

[141] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


One  feels  —  it  seems — an  inspiration  dawn  — 
As  Art — and  Artists — take  material  form: 
There's  breath  of  something  in  Italia's  air 
Inspires  Art  lovers  in  its  love  to  share. 

No  wonder  Titian's  canvases  are  rife 

With  wondrous  touch — and  strength  —  and  pose  and  life! 

And  is  not  here  Bellini's  lovely  blue 

Vouchsafed  in  sea  and  sky  to  mortal  view? 

Surely  a  genius  guided  every  stroke, 
As  each  Madonna  into  life  awoke! 
And  here  she  sits  in  niche  of  richest  tone, 
And  sheds  of  Holy  Love  a  Mother's  own. 

Art — Love — and  Poetry  upon  us  steal! 
We  think 'tis  life!    But  is  it?    Is  it  real? 
We've  seen  upon  a  screen  —  men  come  —  men  go — 
A  seeming  only  —  they!     Mayhap  'tis  so 

With  figures  now!    In  motion  here — today! 
Will  these  not  fade  ?    All  quickly  fade  away  ? 
And  is  not  Venice  —  Adriatic's  Queen  — 
A  phantom  City  —  set  in  pale  marine? 


ROME 


ROME 

Where  to  begin  ?    Whither  and  where  the  trend  ? 
Where  to  begin — where  interest  has  no  end — 

If  haply  to  have  walked 

Where  the  great  Caesar  talked ! 

To  stand  where  crowds  stood  still, 

And  listened  to  the  will 
Of  those  who  reared  for  Rome  its  history, 
And  monuments  wrapped  still  in  mystery. 

Where  to  begin  ?    When  day  succeeding  day 
Brings  into  light  from  Centuries'  hidden  clay — 

The  clearly  outlined  rooms 

Of  long-time  buried  homes; 

The  ash-containing  urns, 

Aye !  the  specific  bones 

Of  those  whose  earthly  lives  seem  so  remote, 
To  fix  their  dates  will  prove  a  genius  stroke. 

[143] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

When  to  begin?    When — from  the  upturned  earth 
Art's  masterpieces  find  their  second  birth  ? 

While  from  the  first — such  span 

Of  years — that  in  the  Vatican 

One  sees  the  works  of  man 

Chiseled  e'er  Rome  began. 
Thus  not  alone — as  pilgrims  do  we  come 
To  learn  of  thee. — Thou  great,  eternal  Rome  ! 

Meanwhile,  old  Trevi  mid  odd  fragments  stands ! 
Fashioned  not  these  by  time — but  human  hands. 

Still  is  that  faithful  store 

Of  coins — dropped  as  of  yore: 

We'll  hope  not  quite  in  vain 

That  wish  to  come  again 

To  Rome !    Assured  by  coin  —  'tis  well  believed ! 
With  draught  of  water  quaffed — to  intercede. 

Where  to  begin  ?    Fain  would  we  come  again 
Where  Vestal  Virgins — in  their  own  domain 

Appear  in  marble  form, 

Bearing  no  lamps  to  burn  ; 

[  H4] 


THE     BAY     OF     NAPLES     FROM     SORRENTO 


But  from  a  long,  long  sleep — 

They  stand  in  silence  deep. 
And  passing  Altar — we  their  pathway  thread 
And  hear — or  seem  to  hear — a  ghostly  tread. 

Up  from  the  depths  of  earth  come  hidden  floors, 

And  from  those  depths — unlocked  are  long-closed  doors. 

Long  as  her  hills  endure, 

Shall  Rome's  historic  power 

Live  —  linking  this,  our  day, 

With  that  dim  "far-away" 
Whose  shadows  we  are  chasing  more  and  more, 
As  Mother-Earth  unfolds  her  wondrous  store. 


THE  BAY  OF  NAPLES  FROM  SORRENTO 

Vain  the  attempt  of  mortal !    All  too  vain ! 

To  reproduce  what  Nature  stamps  her  own. 
What  pen  can  charms  supernal  e'er  proclaim  ? 

What  brush  depict  those  gradient  scales  of  tone  ? 
Where  Nature's  bounty  shows  such  lavishness, 
No  need  to  wield  the  mortal  pen  and  brush. 

[145] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

Would  that  some  gift,  by  God  or  Goddess  given  — 
Those  Gods  whom  Ancients  sought  in  days  of  yore- 

Would  that  a  learned  one,  from  out  their  Heaven, 
Might  mantle  us  with  mythologic  lore. 

Could  they  but  come !  we'd  fain  implore  them  then 

Extend  a  shadowy  hand  and  guide  the  pen. 


Queen  of  the  Muses!  fair  Calliope! 

Dweller  on  high  Olympus !    Strong  in  Art ! 
Could  she  but  charm  our  pen  with  poetry, 

A  portion  of  her  lyric  grace  impart— 
Then  "Mia  bella"  Bay  of  Napoli ! 
Then  could  we  sing  befitting  wrords  of  thee ! 

We'd  tell  of  Capri  and  her  terraced  slopes; 

Of  Ischia,  and  the  little  Sister  Isle, 
Like  emerald  gems,  or  verdant,  vine-clad  floats 

Upon  an  azure  sea !    All  peace !    The  while 
Thy  sleepless  Guardian-King,  in  proof  of  might. 
Rolls  forth  gray  fumes  by  day,  and  flames  by  night. 


THE     BAY     OF     NAPLES     FROM      SORRENTO 


We'd  tell  of  sunsets  oft  across  the  wave, 

Where  dips  the  ball  in  far  Tyrrhenian  Sea  ; 

We'd  tell  of  moons  which  rise,  and  softly  bathe 
Thy  shores,  and  outline  all  things  tenderly! 

Ah,  Mia  bella!    We  would  sing  thy  praise 

In  words  as  eloquent  as  Tasso's  lays. 

How  could  we  fail,  with  such  a  rapturous  theme  ? 

Where  language  seems  not  words,  but  melody ; 
Where  air  is  filled  with  laughter,  faces  beam, 

And  childish  lips  chant  "bella  Napoli" '; 
Where  ever-varying  hues,  and  heavenly  blues 
Give  constant  change  of  beatific  views ! 


Though  many  moons  may  wane  and  suns  may  set, 
We  may  not  come  again!    And  yet!  and  yet — 
We'll  think  of  thee,  when  moons  are  on  the  sea; 
Thy  moonlit  charms  we  never  can  forget ! 
"Addio,  Mia  bella  Napoli!" 
Cerulean  skies  o'erarching  Heaven-blue  sea, 
Dear  Summer  Land  of  mirth  and  poetry ! 
We  can  but  sigh,  "Addio,  Napoli." 

[147] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

TAORMINA 
UNDER  SHADOW  OF  ETNA 

Fair  Isle  of  Sicily !    Whose  checkered  past 
Has  left  great  landmarks  on  combated  soil ; 

In  days  long  gone — both  Greek  and  Roman  cast 

Unsheathed,  on  thy  green  hills,  their  conquering  foil. 

How  glorious  art  thou  now!    How  more  than  fair! 

Where  every  breath  inhaled  is  perfumed  air. 

Since  far-off  misty  age,  Enchanted  Land ! 

Thy  vernal  slopes  an  azure  sea  hath  bound  ; 
Upon  thy  shores,  a  strange  Cyclopic  band 

Held  sway  primeval  on  an  unfought  ground. 
Alas !    That  hazy,  prehistoric  date 
Has  left  an  impress  on  thy  shores  but  faint. 

We  find  thee  now  with  Greek  and  Roman  gone ! 

Arab  and  Norman  !    All  alike  have  fled  ! 
No  clash  of  arms !    No  surging  armies  storm ! 

No  tyrants!    No  invaders!    All  are  dead. 
Only  a  Peace  pervades  thy  sunny  clime, 
A  quiet  Peace — half  earthly!  half  divine! 

******* 
[148] 


T  A  O  R  M  I  N  A 


There,  where  in  olden  times  the  Sisters  trod  — 
The  San  Dominicans! — of  pious  fame — 

Those  Convent  Sisters!    Who — in  seeking  God, 
Thought  in  seclusion  they  could  grace  attain. 

Where  days  and  nights  by  them  were  passed  in  prayer, 

We  entered  one  Mav-morn  and  loitered  there. 


Long  years  have  sped,  since  Sister-voices  raised 

"Ave  Maria"  strains  so  sweet  and  low; 
Long  years  have  passed,  since  God  and  Saints  they  praised 

Within  the  Chapel  walls  so  silent  now. 
Those  hourly  prayers  and  Sisters! — All  have  gone! 
But  something  of  their  holy  Peace  lives  on. 


Now — as  a  hostelry — those  portals  wide 
Offer  to  worldings  ingress  and  sweet  rest ; 

There  at  Taormina  one  may  long  abide, 

And  feel  well-nigh  transported  mid  the  blest. 

Go  if  thou  wilt!    Then,  wanderer,  tell  me  true, 

Does  Earth  contain  a  more  enchanting  view  ? 


[  H9] 


THOUGHTS    AS     THEY     CAME 

Rare  wooded  spot !    On  high  thy  throne, 

Above  a  sea  so  blue — it  pales  the  sky! 
Whose  depths  seem  deeper,  darker  than  the  dome 

O'erhead — whose  tones  all  other  blues  defy. 
Too  far  removed  to  catch  the  ocean's  roar, 
It  seems  a  symphony  borne  up  from  shore. 

Ideal  Isle !    Sunlit  and  classic  land  ! 

Where  hidden  birdlings  trill  their  wild,  sweet  notes ! 
With  Greco-Roman  ruins  nigh  at  hand, 

And  vine-clad  paths  suggesting  trysting  nooks. 
Where  moonbeams,  wrooed  by  nightingale's  sweet  song, 
Play  "hide  and  seek"  with  shadows  till  the  dawn. 

No  scent  of  incense  permeates  the  air, 

Though  Sister-forms  are  seen  above  each  door ; 

Hushed  now  the  bell  which  called  the  Nuns  to  prayer, 
No  Sisters'  tread  is  heard  in  corridor — 

But  on  the  wall  they  pray  a  constant  prayer, 

Perchance  a  prototype  of  Life — elsewhere. 


[150] 


THE     SANDS     OF     THE     DESERT 

Filled  with  a  mystic  charm  those  ancient  grounds, 
In  scenic  beauty  absolute !  unmarred ! 

A  terraced  garden  where  the  Rose  abounds, 
While  Etna's  Cone  keeps  everlasting  guard. 

Wondrously  rising  from  an  azure  sea — 

Taormina  stands!    Fair  child  of  Sicily. 


THE  SANDS  OF  THE  DESERT 

Long  did  they  rest  in  undisturbed  repose, 
Save  as  y^Eolus — wakened  from  his  sleep — 

Breathed  softly,  when  they  all  unconscious  rose, 
And  rolled  themselves  within  a  quivering  heap. 

Roll  on,  ye  sands,  beneath  the  Eastern  blue ! 

Roll  on  —  and  on — and  swell  old  heaps  anew. 

Ye  little  sands!  infinitesimal!  and  yet — 

Concealed  within  thine  arms,  through  Centuries ! 

Safe  in  their  clasp,  strange  inmates  long  have  slept, 
Fast  holding  truths  of  long-gone  dynasties. 

What  may'st  thou  not  contain?    Man  craves  yet  more, 

To  flush  museums  with  thy  priceless  store. 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

Mayhap  more  sunken  realms,  whose  darkened  halls 

Unlighted  quite,  for  time  untold — by  suns  or  moons — 

Lead  into  inner  chambers,  on  whose  walls 

Are  strangely  vivid  scenes.    These  buried  tombs 

Give  weird-like  speech  to  men — who,  at  some  close  of  day, 

Their  brushes  dropped,  and  in  the  gloaming  stole  away. 

Not  always  dulcet  tones  ^olus  breathes ; 

At  times  his  wooing,  as  with  fury  rings  ; 
Each  swirling  atom  to  his  mandate  yields, 

And  all,  with  heated  khamsin  force,  he  flings 
Far  and  away — fast  blustering  into  space, 
In  furious  tune  with  their  great  master's  pace. 

On — like  a  blinding  storm  at  his  behest; 

On — till  his  swollen  anger  well  is  spent. 
'Tis  then  .rEolus  lulls  his  sands  to  rest 

With  whispered  breathings,  wooing  back  content. 
Again  at  rest !  again  /Eolus  sleeps ! 
And  over  all,  the  great  Sphinx  vigil  keeps. 


[152] 


THE     AFTERGLOW     AS     SEEN     AT     BOMBAY 


Watching  in  old-time  stately  dignity, 

Heedless  alike  of  men  and  ages  gone ; 
Forming,  with  Pyramids,  an  honored  company, 

Whose  truths  are  writ  in  everlasting  stone. 
Heedless  of  noonday  sun,  or  nightly  showrer  of  stars, 
Watching  on  sanded  rostrum,  on  through  endless  hours. 

Then  teach  us  more,  ye  sands !  nor  yield  your  right ! 

Once  having  tasted  of  your  hidden  lore, 
We'd  have  more  mummied  treasures  brought  to  light, 

And  face  to  face  we'd  stand  with  kings  of  yore. 
Man  knows  thee  now,  great,  silent  vault  of  mystery ! 
And  not  in  vain,  he  seeks  those  depths  for  history. 


THE  AFTERGLOW  AS  SEEN  AT  BOMBAY 

'Tis  not  the  actual  setting  of  the  ball, 

The  sinking  of  the  disc  in  depths  afar ; 
The  rolling  o'er,  and  final  mighty  fall  — 

Beyond  the  Tower-crowned  steep  of  Malabar. 

[I53l 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 

All  that  is  glorious  in  its  wondrous  strength, 
A  mighty  pageant  on  th'  horizon  low; 

And  sinking,  Westward,  sends  o'er  Heaven's  length 
A  shower — as  if  of  gold  —  the  Afterglow! 

Superb,  this  glory  of  the  Sunset  hour! 

And  gathered  near,  where  Back  Bay  waters  flow- 
Are  rich  and  poor,  all  owning  to  the  power 

Of  Nature's  Master-touch,  this  Afterglow! 

It  spreads  anon !    That  wondrous  wealth  of  tone ! 

It  bathes  the  sky !    Reflects  on  sea  below ! 
No  golden  shower,  where'er  one's  footsteps  roam, 

Surpasses  Bombay's  glorious  Afterglow ! 


THE  BELLS  OF  SHWE  DAGON 

Swaying!    Playing!    Call  for  prayer, 
Rang  those  bells  in  upper  air ! 
Tinkling  softly  as  they  swayed, 
Tinkling  gayly  as  they  played, 
Just  a  rhythmic  sort  of  play- 
In  a  far-off,  dreamy  way. 

[154] 


THE     BELLS     OF     SHWE     DAGON 

Never  ceasing  call  to  prayer ! 
Like  to  voices  in  mid-air ! 
Tinkle !    Tinkle !    Come  ye  all ! 
Tinkle!    Come!    'Tis  Buddha's  call. 
This — his  stately,  golden  shrine — 
Offers  peace  to  heart  of  thine. 

Priests,  in  yellow  garments  clad, 
Offering  flowers  to  Dagon's  God ; 
Folded  hands,  and  prostrate  form — 
Ever  seen  from  early  morn. 
Priests  and  people  chanting,  praying, 
Bells  in  upper  air  a-swaying. 


Tinkle!    Tinkle!    Come  ye  all! 
Tinkle!    Come!    'Tis  Buddha's  call ! 
Come  with  flower,  or  flowery  wreath  ! 
Sacred  hairs,  enshrined  beneath — 
Call  for  offerings,  great  or  small, 
Buddha's  Peace  responds  to  all. 


[155] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


Sound  of  tinkling  fainter  grew 
As  the  noonday  hastened  through — 
Hushed  by  hammer — and  by  clamor— 
And  by  strange  Buddhistic  manner — 
Children's  voices  filled  the  air, 
Blending  with  the  priests  at  prayer. 

Then  we  watched  the  shadows  fall, 
In  the  gloaming — over  all  — 
As  they  gamboled  in  the  shade, 
By  the  twilight  deeper  made ; 
Till  was  dropped  night's  somber  pall, 
Over  Tee  and  sacred  wall. 


E'en  the  tiger,  where  he  fell  — 
Fresh  from  jungle's  deepest  dell  — 
Standing  on  his  refuge  spot, 
Hit  by  English  well-aimed  shot  ; 
He,  too,  faded  from  our  sight, 
Wrapped  in  folds  of  somber  night. 


[156] 


THE     BELLS     OF     SHWE     DAGON 

Later  came  we  to  that  shrine, 
When  the  moon  was  in  her  prime ; 
Full  and  rounded  shed  her  glory, 
Thus  enhancing  all  the  story 
Of  this  old  Buddhistic  teaching, 
And  this  Peace — so  far  outreaching. 


Tee !    Pagoda !    All  reflected  ! 

Scintillating  lights  projected ! 

Changed  by  Night-Queen's  rays  to  splendor ! 

Mid-air  bells  in  pleadings  tender — 

Tinkle !    Tinkle !    Come  ye  all ! 

Tinkle!    Come!    'Tis  Buddha's  call! 


Fair  Shwe  Dagon  !    Thus  we  left  you 
With  an  Eastern  moon  above  you, 
Near  the  Irrawaddy's  waters  ; 
Where  old  Burma's  silk-gowned  daughters, 
And  the  spare-built,  turbaned  youth, 
Learn  what  Buddha  taught  for  Truth. 


[157] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

Tinkle !    Tinkle !    Come  ye  all ! 
Tinkle!    Come!    'Tis  Buddha's  call ! 
Come  with  flower,  or  flowery  wreath  ! 
Sacred  hairs,  enshrined  beneath — 
Call  for  offerings,  great  or  small, 
Buddha's  Peace  responds  to  all. 


A  SYMPHONY  IN  MARBLE 

A  bijou !  a  bower !  a  white  Jasmine  Tower ! 
While  beyond  rests  the  Pearl— 

Taj  Mahal! 
This — the  Home,  the  Zenana,  the  Earthly  Nirvana 

Of  its  Queen, 

The  Mumtaz-i-Mahal. 

Just  beneath  rolls  the  river,  where  late  moonbeams  quiver, 
While  in  glory  they  wrap 

Taj  Mahal; 

There  the  Echoes  ascending— like  symphonies  blending, 
With  always  the  theme, 

Taj  Mahal. 

[158] 


'/:</<•/;    no  I,    softly   ily'nnj  —  HI;,    j<" 
Heart-sighs  for 

Mumtaa-i-Mahal" 


OX     THE     IRRAWADDY 

Each  note  softly  dying — like  far-away  sighing — 
Heart-sighs  for 

Mumtaz-i-Mahal. 

******* 

Have  Peace,  gentle  Sleeper!    Love's  angel  thy  keeper- 
Trie  spirit  that  guards 

Taj  Mahal. 

Fair  gem  of  devotion  to  Love's  pure  emotion ! 
This  fairest  of  Tombs — 

Taj  Mahal. 

A  wrought  lamentation !    A  mute  adoration  ! 
Chaste,  Exquisite  Shrine, 

Taj  Mahal! 
A  love-song  in  marble !    A  sculptured  bird-warble ! 

A  Paradise  dream  — 

Taj  Mahal! 


ON  THE  IRRAWADDY 

Oh,  for  a  broader  sense,  and  wealth  of  words 
To  fitly  tell  of  colorings  daily  blent ! 

They  speak  not  of  this  Earth — but  far-off  worlds! 
These  glorious  sunsets  of  the  Orient. 

[159] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

At  first  we  think  it  gold — as  King  of  Day 
Steps  off,  and  down  beyond  that  mystic  line, 

Spreading  his  trail  in  such  a  regal  way, 

O'er  all  that  Western  slope  its  folds  recline. 

We  think  it  gold  !    Anon  it  turns  to  rose ! 

A  rose  of  which  we  dream,  nor  ever  knew ; 
Yet  e'er  the  simile  upon  us  grows, 

Each  fold  unfolds  a  mellow  orange  hue. 

Softly  we  whisper  "Orange!" — knowing  well 
It  ill  bespeaks  such  depth  of  nameless  tone; 

No  earthly  word  is  coined,  by  which  to  tell 

How  peerless  rose — then  orange  —  followed  chrome. 

They  followed — and  then  blended — three  in  one! 

A  shade  incomparable  each  fold  displayed ! 
'Tis  pomegranate !    Other  shades  outdone, 

Yet  saying  this — we  felt  ourselves  dismayed. 

Was  ever  trail  before  so  wondrous  wrought, 
Or  human — impotent  apt  words  to  say? 

The  while,  in  wonderment,  we're  lost  in  thought, 
The  distant  King  has  trailed  his  folds  away. 

[160] 


ON     LEAVING     CEYLON 


ON  LEAVING  CEYLON 

Beautiful  Isle  of  that  Indian  Sea — 
Wrapped  in  a  mellowed-like,  soft  ecstasy ! 
Freely  we  tender  heart-praises  where  due  ; 
And,  Tea-growing  Isle!    We  bestow  them  on  you. 

Veiled  in  a  verdure  with  beauty  replete, 
Garden  of  Eden  spreads  out  at  thy  feet ; 
Queen  of  the  Palm !    And  fair  gem  of  the  sea ! 
Paradise  doors  open  wide  unto  thee. 

Softer  we  catch  it — that  surf's  gentle  roar, 
Surging  and  laving  the  sands  of  thy  shore  ; 
Only  in  memory  'twill  come  to  us  soon, 
But  always  with  memories  of  beauty  and  bloom. 

Impotent  pen  all  thy  glories  to  tell, 
Feeble  the  voices  thy  praises  to  swell  — 
What  we  most  feel  is  thy  sylvan-like  spell ; 
What  we  must  say — with  a  sigh  —  is  farewell! 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


SUMMER  SEAS 

Sailing  and  dreaming!    Dreaming  and  sailing! 

Summer-time  days  on  these  calm  Eastern  Seas ! 
Gentle  winds  blowing — each  moment  unfolding 

A  soft,  zephyr  touch,  like  an  Eden-born  breeze. 

Fays  beyond  number  close  eyelids  in  slumber, 
Water-sprites  longing  for  frolic  and  play ! 

Softly  they  fan  one !    Stealthily  bear  one 
Far  into  realms  of  fair  dreamland  away. 

A  mild  soporific !    No  Neptune  emetic 

Has  power  on  these  waters  to  chase  men  below ; 

Just  drifting  and  dreaming!    All  life  but  a  seeming, 
As  lazily,  happily,  onward  we  go. 

Daytime  and  night-time!  —  Moonlight  and  sunshine 
All  speed  away  with  no  trace  of  a  flight ! 

Sailing  and  dreaming!    Dreaming  and  sailing! 
Waters  pacific,  and  skies  blue  and  bright. 

[162] 


THE     NEW     THOUGHT 


THE  NEW  THOUGHT 
To  F.  C.  B. 

Call  it  the  "New" — or  whatsoe'er  you  will — 
'Tis  but  the  dear,  old,  helpful  Christ-Thought  still ; 
The  same  He  taught  in  long-gone  yesterday, 
The  same  remanded,  known  as  "New"  today; 
And  as  the  Centuries  pale  and  dawn  again, 
So  will  this  Christ-Thought  ever  be  the  same. 
Ever — forever — will  it  onward  move, 
Ever — forever — for  'tis  based  on  Love. 

The  Master's  voice  is  in  the  dear  old  Thought, 

As  all-forgiving  as  the  love  He  taught ; 

So  full  of  charity  and  tenderness, 

So  free  from  censure — and  so  prone  to  bless. 

"Neither  do  I  condemn  thee!   Sin  no  more!" 

So  rang  these  pitying,  pardoning  words  of  yore ; 

And  as  soft  echoes  from  that  far-away, 

We  catch  them  in  the  "New"  Thought  of  today. 

[163] 


THOUGHTS    AS     THEY     CAME  fcTOg 

1^ 

Like  Bethlehem's  Star  of  old,  which  led  the  way, 
So  will  this  Christ-Thought  lead  to  perfect  day. 
May  we  not  choose  it  as  our  guiding  star  ? 
Its  light  is  steady — and  its  precepts  are — 
"To  all  the  world — and  to  yourself — be  true. 
To  others  do — as  if  'twere  done  to  you. 
Within  your  heart,  let  hatred  not  be  found — 
Lest  its  vile  sting  should  on  yourself  rebound." 

"Nurse  not  your  wrath  till  night's  dark  shadows  fall. 

So  far  as  may  be — live  at  peace  with  all." 

Love — peace — compassion!    these  the  Master  taught, 

And  with  these  attributes,  lives  must  be  fraught 

Who  take  as  guide  that  olden,  Eastern  Star, 

Nor  lose  by  night,  nor  day,  its  leading  power. 

On — straightway  on!  nor  in  a  by-path  wait! 

The  road  defined  by  Bethlehem's  Star  is  straight. 

******* 

'Tis  thus  we  gather,  as  we  make  review, 

And  place  them  side  by  side — the  Old  and  New; 

The  dear  old  Christ-Thought,  full  of  helpful  truth, 

The  so-called  "New"  Thought — flushed  with  seeming  youth. 

[164] 


MEMORIES 


MEMORIES 

Oh,  the  memories!  painful  memories! 

Full  of  heartaches !  full  of  tears ! 
Memories  of  the  loved,  and  loving! 

Memories  of  the  vanished  years! 
Days  and  months  long  since  gone  by — 
Stealing  back  again  for  aye. 

Memories'  book!  so  comprehensive! 

Page  on  page  a  record  bears 
Of  the  merry  family  Yuletides, 

And  of  long,  successive  years — 
When  the  sun  shone  hour  on  hour, 
Yielding  "heartsease"  as  our  flower. 

In  that  life-book  of  our  memories — 

Let  us  turn  one  other  leaf ; 
Heads  are  bowing!  tears  are  flowing! 

Every  word  denotes  heart-grief. 
Turn  it  gently !  pass  it  by ! 
Let  that  page  of  memories  die. 

[165] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 

Turn  the  leaves  to  blessed  memories ! 

Let  them  peace  and  comfort  give! 
Memories  of  the  loved,  and  loving, 

Gone,  and  yet,  we  know  they  live. 
Life — God-given — we're  wont  to  say, 
Endless  is !    'Tis  Life  alway. 

Better  close  the  book  in  silence, 
Save  with  sacred,  soft  "Amen"! 

'Twas  a  lesson  in  life's  schoolroom, 
Hard,  perhaps,  to  learn — but  then  — 

'Twas  the  way  "The  Father"  chose 

For  our  training!  and  He  knows. 


WHO  CAN  ANSWER? 

How  many  lives — we  question — will  we  live? 

How  many  scores  of  years  in  which  to  grow  ? 
How  long  to  take  whate'er  the  Gods  can  give? 

Who  is  to  answer?    Who,  of  us  all,  to  know? 
Yet  from  within,  there  comes  an  oft'-heard  call, 
Repeating  softly — "  Lo,  this  is  not  all." 

[166] 


WHO     CAN     ANSWER? 


This  is  not  all !    We  feel  it  cannot  be ! 

Why  powers  created,  only  to  suspend? 
Rather  we'd  think  of  them  as  happily 

Growing — and  growing  on — time  without  end. 
Rather  like  stars  of  night,  we'd  have  them  shine, 
And  like  the  stars  come  back — time  after  time. 


Why  loving  hearts  be  given,  if  but  to  rend? 

To  saddened  lives,  why  added  sorrows  fall  ? 
If  this  is  final  —  this  the  bitter  end — 

Why  came  we  to  this  troublous  earth  at  all  ? 
Is  it  as  stepping  stones — that  Life  is  given, 
By  which  we  reach  whate'er  we  make  our  Heaven? 

Nature,  itself,  cries  out — "This  is  not  all!" 
Autumn,  with  dead-brown  leaf,  is  all  in  vain  ; 

Each  fruitful  season  follows  Spring-time  call, 
And  Spring-time  brings  the  vivid  green  again. 

Always  re-living! — bud,  and  bloom,  and  tree! 

And  may  not  we — through  all  Eternity? 


[167] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 

'Tis  but  the  mantle  that  is  turned  to  brown, 
'Tis  but  the  foliage  on  the  grand  old  tree ; 

We  watch  the  color-change — then  fall  to  ground, 
And  know  the  frost  will  set  each  leaflet  free. 

Yet — with  the  robin's  song,  and  Spring-time  clear, 

In  brand-new  suit  the  old  trunk  will  appear. 

How  many  lives,  then,  is  it  given  to  live? 

How  many  scores  of  years  in  which  to  learn 
Just  what  is  Life,  and  what  it  has  to  give, 

And  how,  in  very  truth,  its  truths  discern  ? 
How,  too,  in  point  of  years,  and  lives,  will  grow 
The  good — within  us  all — in  embryo? 

This  is  not  all !    Why  should  it  be  the  end  ? 

With  aspirations  strong — and  higher  aim— 
With  conscious  latent  power — and  broader  .trend 

Than  in  this  span  of  Life  one  can  attain. 
Such  uplifts  come!  —  E'en  mortal  vision  keen, 
Seems  now  and  then  to  glimpse  the  great  unseen. 


[168] 


A     THANKSGIVING     ODE 


Come,  then,  ye  blossoms,  though  ye  come  to  go! 

The  Spring-time  charm  and  beauty  ye  enhance ! 
Always  re-living! — and — for  aught  we  know, 

We  may  ourselves  bud  forth  again.    Perchance 
Some  day — somewhere — e'en  as  "The  Master"  willed, 
We'll  find  our  aspirations  all  fulfilled. 


A  THANKSGIVING  ODE 

Why  am  I  thankful?    Just  for  air  and  light— 
For  earth's  rare  wonders,  born  of  day  and  night ; 
For  birdlings  on  the  wing,  and  verdure  green, 
For  quiet  nooks,  where  softened  shadows  screen — 
And  Nature's  charms  are  wrapped  in  peace  serene. 

Why  am  I  thankful?    Just  for  song  of  bird, 
And  myriad  sounds  of  harmony.     If  heard  — 
Will  fall  with  lingering  cadence  on  the  ear, 
And  quell  all  whispered  fantasies  of  fear, 
And  bring  the  heart  of  Heaven  so  very  near. 

[169] 


THOUGHTS    AS     THEY    CAME 

Why  am  I  thankful  ?    For  the  close  of  day, 
When  richest  colorings  spread — and  chase  away 
All  half-toned  haze,  and  pale,  uncertain  light  ; 
And  lordly  Sun  sweeps  down  to  meet  the  night, 
And  with  a  tread  majestic  trails  from  sight. 

Why  am  I  thankful?    For  the  running  stream, 
And  winding  of  its  waters,  through  a  scene 
Where  pasture-lands  are  rich — and,  towering  high 
Amid  the  fir-topped  hillsides,  we  descry 
A  sunbeam  hard  at  play — now  bold,  now  shy. 

Why  am  I  thankful  ?    Just  to  be  alive 
To  beauties  manifold  on  every  side ; 
To  hear  the  cadences  of  Nature  born, 
To  catch  the  spirit-note  of  unsung  song, 
And  in  the  heart,  these  soulful  notes  prolong. 

Why  am  I  thankful  ?    Just  for  blessed  means 
To  lend  a  helping  hand ; — and  mid  strange  scenes 
To  wander  far  and  wide,  and  learn  while  there 
That  good,  and  Wisdom's  ways,  are  found  elsewhere - 
Not  all  of  this  earth's  best  is  centered  here. 

[  170] 


WHICH? 

Why  am  I  thankful  ?    Just  for  hope  and  love, 
Strongest  of  chords  to  lead  to  heights  above ; 
The  "Light  of  Life,"  on  starboard  and  on  port — 
For  which,  and  by  which,  men  have  lived  and  fought; 
But,  lost  or  swamped — all  left  of  life  is  naught. 

Why  am  I  thankful  ?    Just  to  scatter  wide 
Life's  shadows — and  to  find  "the  sunny  side"; 
To  peer  beyond ;  to  close  the  eye  to  strife, 
With  which  this  schoolroom-world  is  oft'-times  rife, 
And  live  awake  to  joyous,  glorious  Life. 


WHICH? 

So  like  to  palace  large  and  rare — seems  Life — 
Filled  well  with  corridors  and  rooms  untold, 

Some,  somber-like,  suggest  an  air  of  strife, 
And  others  radiant  are — like  shining  gold; 

Radiant  with  sunshine,  born  of  sweet  content, 

And  all  well-filled  with  cause  for  wonderment. 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

Some  stored  there  are,  with  noble,  generous  deeds! 

Deeds  which  to  emulate,  one's  nature  thrills ! 
And  talents  varied  —  for  the  workers'  needs, 

But  sadly  naught — in  hands  of  paresseuse. 
We  question  which — in  all  the  by  and  by— 
Which  of  these  rooms  we'll  choose  to  occupy. 

All  here  before  us !  corridors  and  doors ! 

* 

All  rooms  so  endless,  coming  into  view ! 
Which  will  we  pace — of  all  these  untried  floors? 

For  pace  we  must — and  thread  our  way  all  through. 
We  stand — today — with  portals  opening  wide  — 
Upon  the  palace  threshold — just  inside. 


NEVER  AGAIN 

'Tis  not  the  same!    No!    Never  just  the  same, 
When  years  have  gone — we  wander  back  again! 
To  where — mid  pleasant  paths,  and  joyous  ways — 
We've  passed  some  happy  hours  in  bygone  days. 

[172] 


NEVER     AGAIN 


The  Village  known  to  us  has  grown  apace, 

And  what  we  seek  is  one  familiar  face ; 

Only  the  leaves  nod  recognition  now, 

And  wave  their  friendly  greeting  from  each  bough. 

Such  changes  follow  all  adown  the  street ; 
From  either  side,  big  branches  spread  and  meet  ; 
Houses  have  thrust  themselves  upon  the  scene, 
Till  scarcely  small  green  patches  intervene. 

There  was  a  nook  we  loved,  and  now  we  seek, 
A  glen  secluded  !    Beautiful  retreat ! 
That,  still  we  find,  wrapped  in  its  verdant  green, 
Two  shaded  banks,  with  rippling  stream  between. 

There,  during  all  the  day,  were  merry  groups, 
Some  keen  on  target  prize — some,  lost  in  books ; 
For  morn,  and  e'en  high-noon,  gave  always  shade 
Within  that  quiet,  favorite,  fern-dressed  glade. 

What  of  our  croquet-ground  ?    A  thought  recalls 
The  voice  of  players,  and  the  sound  of  balls. 
We  look  in  vain  —  around!  there's  not  a  trace 
Of  hoop  or  mallet  in  this  built-up  place. 

[173] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

New  homes !    Strange  faces  everywhere  appear. 
Where  are  the  places  that  we  held  so  dear  ? 
Gone  are  they  now !    All  phantom-like  it  seems ! 
Those  other  days  all  vanished  into  dreams. 

The  little  house  that  stood  upon  the  crest — 
The  old-time  parsonage,  in  ivy  dressed  ; 
"Old  Auntie  Brown,"  with  saintly  smile  for  all  — 
Forever  "waiting"  for  The  Father's  Call. 

She  knew  the  village  e'er  the  Squire  was  born, 
And  he — 'twas  said — could  spin  a  wondrous  yarn 
Of  facts  and  fancies — of  a  long-gone  day— 
The  truth  of  which,  but  she  could  say  him  nay. 

Hushed  are  his  tales — and  she  no  longer  sits 
Within  her  woodbine-covered  porch,  and  knits ; 
Gone — like  the  lingering  russet  leaves  of  Fall, 
Both  have  responded  to  "The  Master's"  Call. 

There  will  we  leave  them,  with  the  boughs  o'erhead, 
Whose  foliage,  thickly  grown,  makes  shade  widespread  ; 
And  from  its  depths,  comes  soft  this  sad  refrain— 
Bring  back  the  voices  gone !    Bring  them  again ! 
Else  can  it  nevermore  be  just  the  same. 

[174] 


THE     BIRD     CALL 


THE  BIRD  CALL 

Hear  them  singing  in  the  tree, 

Mother  mine? 
Whatever  can  it  be  — 
That  t'wit — t'wit — t'wee! 
Do  you  think  they're  calling  me, 

Mother  mine? 

Can't  you  tell  me  what  they  say, 

Mother  mine? 
In  that  chitty-chatty  way- 
How  I  wish  they'd  always  stay ! 
But  they're  flying  right  away, 

Mother  mine ! 

Oh,  if  only  I  could  fly, 

Mother  mine ! 

Think  you  in  the  by  and  by 
I  could  look  into  the  sky  ? 
Will  you,  some  day,  let  me  try, 

Mother  mine? 

[175] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

And  she  did — that  spirit  bright! 

and  I'm  lone! 

For  an  angel  came  one  night — 
And  with  smile  of  child-delight, 
With  the  angel — she  took  flight— 

and  is  gone. 

Back  her  birdlings,  in  the  morn, 

came  to  me ! 

From  the  breaking  of  the  dawn— 
Came  sweet  twitterings  all  day  long, 
And  such  soft  and  plaintive  song 

from  that  tree. 

Back  they  ever  come  to  me, 

and  they  sing! 

Twittering — "Happy  try  to  be!" 
But  their  sweetest  melody 
Seems  a  note  of  childlike  glee 

on  the  wing. 


[176] 


A     PRAYER 


A  PRAYER 

In  the  dawning  of  the  morning, 
Lead  us,  Father !    Every  one ! 

In  the  nooning — and  the  gloaming — 
When  the  busy  day  is  done — 

And  as  nightly  shadows  fall 

O'er  Thy  children — Bless  us  all! 

Let  Thy  mantle  of  forgiveness 

Cover  all  within  the  home ! 
Let  Thy  love  be  felt  by  wanderers  — 

Those  whose  lives  are  scarred  and  lone ; 
Let  them  catch  the  tone  of  cheer, 

Which,  as  children,  they  should  hear. 

For  we  are  the  Father's  children  ! 

Not  one  only !  every  one ! 
Those  by  family  firesides  mingling — 

Those  with  neither  hearth  nor  home. 
Hear  them,  Father !    Heed  their  call ! 

Hear  our  prayer — "God  bless  us  all!" 

[  177] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

Let  Thy  aid  reach  out  to  mourners — 

Those  whose  day  seems  turned  to  night ; 

Though  th'  horizon  dark — yea!  black  is! 
Help !  oh,  help  them  to  see  light ! 

Bid  the  crushing  clouds  to  lift, 

And  Thy  Peace  gleam  through  the  rift. 

Thus — in  morn  of  life — and  gloaming — 
And  when  Earth's  fleet  hours  are  run  ; 

When  this  groping — halting — learning — 
Will  have  ceased!  and  Rest  be  won— 

Ever — as  Earth's  shadows  fall  — 
Shall  we  say — "God  bless  us  all!" 

And  when  other  dawns  are  breaking, 
And  when  other  days  have  come — 

When  we  know  the  joy  of  waking 
In  a  purer  spirit-home — 

He — who  answers  every  call — 
He  will  bless  us !  bless  us  all! 


[178] 


GROWTH 


GROWTH 

The  little  crosses  that  are  ours  to  bear, 
The  bigger  heartaches  we  are  called  to  share — 
Hard  stepping  stones  may  seem  en  route  to  Heaven, 
And  yet — as  disciplines — are  they  not  given? 

A  power  unused,  through  lack  of  need  or  will, 
Will  dormant  lie !  nor  present  crisis  fill ; 
Thus  life's  demands — these  disciplines  of  ours — 
May  serve,  we  think,  to  bring  out  latent  powers. 

Still  do  we  learn !  and  still  as  children,  we 
Perchance  will  learn  through  all  eternity. 
Faltering  at  times — and  dazed — we  seek  the  way, 
While  mental  outlook  broadens  day  by  day. 

No  farther  on,  mayhap,  than  a,  b,  c, 
In  life's  big,  endless,  study-book  are  we; 
Just  step  by  step !  unfolding,  as  we  go, 
Our  richest  coloring  toward  the  afterglow. 

[  179] 


THOUGHTS    AS     THEY    CAME 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  CHINESE  WOMEN 

Bend  low,  and  hark  ye !  hark  ye,  and  heed  it,  too ! 
'Tis  meant,  fair  women  of  our  land,  for  you ! 
It  comes,  like  plaintive  call,  from  out  the  East, 
And  stirs  up  unrest  chords  within  the  breast ; 

Go  we,  so  far  afield — or  where  we  will — 
We  catch  an  echo  of  those  voices  still. 
Still  do  they  haunt  us !  still  that  endless  cry, 
With  hands  uplifted  toward  their  Western  sky. 

In  murmurings  low — a  woman's  plaintive  tones, 
They  come — like  wave  on  wave — from  distant  homes. 
It  matters  not  where'er  we  come  or  go — 
The  breeze  takes  up  the  call,  and  murmurs  low— 

"Ye  that  have  'taught' — well-outlined  on  the  brow, 
Come  to  us!  Come!  and  come,  our  Sisters  Now!" 
"Come" — is  the  low  refrain — "while  yet  'tis  day! 
Come!  for  the  door  is  open,  and  ye  may. 

[180] 


THE     CALL     OF     THE     CHINESE     WOMEN 

i . __ 

Ye  cannot  know,  mayhap  not  understand, 

All  ye  beneath  the  dome  of  Christian  land, 

What  'tis  to  live  where  'Thought'  denies  a  mind, 

And  living  soul,  likewise,  to  human  kind. 

Ye  breathe  an  air  made  free !  wherein  the  light 

Shows  men  and  women  equal  in  God's  sight. 

Ye  breathe — and  live — and  grow  in  Wisdom's  way, 

While  we — untaught — exist — from  day  to  day. 

Knowing  no  change — no  growth  —  no  inner  power— 

Which  to  God's  every  child  is  rightful  dower. 

This  comes  like  truth ! — a  truth  we  want  to  seize, 

And  hold  it — as  'tis  borne  on  Western  breeze ! " 

So  say  the  voices !  seeming  ever  nigh, 

Borne  over  depths  of  sea,  and  land-peaks  high, 

Calling  for  truth — which  means  from  bondage  freed— 

A  truth  which  China's  children  sorely  need ; 

Now  is  the  vineyard  ripe,  and  now  the  time ! 
Never,  as  now,  could  those  of  foreign  clime 
Enter  that  vineyard — and  to  the  women's  call 
Give  heed,  and  teach  them,  God  is  God  of  All. 

[181] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

Bend  low  and  hark  ye !  hark  ye,  and  heed  it,  too ! 
'Tis  meant,  fair  women  of  our  land !  for  you ! 
'Tis  meant  that  ye  should  hear  and  understand 
That  call  of  women  from  a  far-off  land. 

'Tis  meant  that  ye  should  stoutly  intercede 
With  helping  hand,  for  which  those  sisters  plead. 
Bend  low  and  hark  ye !  hark  ye,  and  heed  it,  too ! 
Fair  women  of  our  land !  'Tis  meant  for  you. 


REMINDERS 

What  may  not  come?  what  floods  of  thought  arise— 

From  long-pressed  flower,  or  scent  borne  on  the  breeze  ? 

Or  merry  laugh,  or  tints  of  evening  skies, 
Or  rustling  of  some  overhanging  leaves  ? 

Strange  thoughts  take  shape — and  voices  loved  come  back; 

Songs  heard,  once  sung — and  tender  words,  once  said- 
All  trooping  on,  o'er  memory's  silent  track; 

They  were  but  laid  away! — they  were  not  dead. 

[182] 


THE  KNOWN  AND  THE   UNKNOWN 

Memory  lives  long,  and  gently,  firmly  keeps 
On  shadowy  past  a  loving,  tender  hold  — 

Like  embryo-rose !  in  bud  it  sweetly  sleeps, 
Each  fragrant  petal,  later,  to  unfold. 

Thus  be  it  sound — or  whatsoe'er  it  will — 

A  breath  from  flowery  vale,  or  pine-topped  knoll, 

It  wafts  a  memory  from  the  past — until 
Faces  and  places,  times  and  chimes  unroll. 

And  now !  as  shadows  creep  and  sunbeams  pale, 

We  catch  the  echo  of  an  old  refrain ; 
We  ramble,  as  of  old,  through  leafy  vale, 

And  sing,  and  hear  the  old  songs  sung  again. 


THE  KNOWN  AND  THE  UNKNOWN 
OLD— AND  THE  NEW 

The  Old  Year  gone !    Subdued  our  thrills  of  glee ! 
Our  symphony  is  sung  in  minor  key. 
We  knew  him  well!  knew  well  his  measured  tread, 
And  'neath  the  cypress  we  would  pansies  spread. 

[183] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 


Then  welcome  give !  a  hearty  welcome  true 
To  Baby  New  Year!  as  he  comes  in  view; 
So  infantile!  so  full  of  dimpled  smiles! 
We  love  his  prattling  ways  and  baby-wiles. 

What  will  he  give  us  when — as  babe  no  more — 
His  scant  experience  offers  childhood's  store? 
What  will  he  give  us — as  a  stalwart  youth — 
In  earnest  search  of  Wisdom's  ways  and  truth? 

What  will  he  give  us — as  with  years  gone  by, 
A  man — well-versed  in  lore — we  now  descry? 
What  has  been  given  ?  what  shall  we  find  to  say 
When  aged,  tottering  form  has  passed  away? 


THE  RIFT  IN  THE  CLOUD 

Are  we  sometimes  sore  adrift  ? 
Would  we  see  the  cloud-bed  rift  ? 
Only  raise  the  eyes  above — 
There,  in  holiest,  tenderest  love, 
Through  that  ever-widening  space 
We  shall  see  the  Father's  Face. 

[184] 


LAND-LOCKED 


Do  the  problems  gather  fast  ? 

Are  our  sun-rays  all  o'ercast? 

Do  we  stumble  in  the  mire? 

First  of  doubt — and  then  despair? 

Heed  not  how  the  shadows  grew ! 

Light  must  pierce  the  darkness  through. 

Never  storm  but  had  an  end ! 
Never  man  but  had  a  friend ! 
Never  clouds  but  broke  away ! 
Never  night  but  dawned  a  day ! 
What,  though  doubting,  sore  adrift — 
Steadfast  look  we  for  the  Rift. 


LAND-LOCKED 

Where  are  we  now,  but  sailing  in  the  lea, 
Within  the  harbor — looking  toward  the  sea! 
Only  a  while !    They're  neither  long  nor  wide, 
These  harbor  waters  of  a  Summer  tide. 

[185] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 

Drifting  at  times !  like  gentle  ebb  and  flow, 
Caring  not  whither,  and  which  the  way  we  go ! 
Idling  the  hours !  well  out  from  sheltered  port, 
But  high  the  sun !  mayhap  no  need  for  thought. 

Our  little  craft  keeps  moving  in  her  track, 
Repeating  never!  never  a  turning  back — 
Just  on  and  on !    Yet  long  the  childhood  year 
Between  the  lighted  trees  and  Christmas  cheer. 

Who  but  remembers  how  youth  planned,  and  dreamed 
Of  Christmas  joys — and  how  far  off  they  seemed? 
Thus  slowly  move  the  years  through  life's  forenoon, 
With  speed  increased  as  evening  shadows  come. 

For  come  they  surely  will  at  close  of  day, 

The  while  our  little  craft  keeps  on  her  way ; 

And  oft  a  ripple  on  the  surface  clear 

Seems  softly  saying — "Look  to  it,  how  ye  steer!" 

"Yon  rising  wind  and  threatening  waves  must  fail 
To  turn  thy  bow,  or  rob  thee  of  thy  sail." 
So  may  it  prove !  and  stanch  our  rigging  be, 
When  at  the  bar — we  cross — and  put  to  sea. 

[186] 


THE     BETTER     WAY 


THE  BETTER  WAY 

Better  to  struggle  with  th'  on-coming  tide ! 

Better  to  battle  hard  with  surging  wave ! 
Better  to  stand  to  helm! — than  simply  glide 

Down  stream — without  an  effort  to  be  brave. 
Better  to  bring  out  strength! — that  otherwise 
Would  never  grow,  and  to  the  surface  rise. 

Better  the  daily  worries,  and  the  cares ! 

Better  the  victory,  born  of  doubts  and  fears ! 
Better  to  firmly  stand! — and  unawares 

To  make  for  character,  with  growth  of  years. 
Better  to  live  them  down! — these  so-called  ills! 
Which,  as  a  discipline,  one's  pathway  fills. 

Better  believe  that  Life — and  Love — and  Strength 
Are  ours  to  call  upon  from  hour  to  hour  ; 

That  Life  is  boundless !  knows  no  narrowed  length ! 
Our  birthright  portion  !  The  Creator's  dower ! 

Sweet  blossoms  die — but  bloom  again  in  Spring; 

So  will  our  chords  of  Life  through  ages  ring. 

[187] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

Better !  yes,  better  far,  to  hold  on  fast 
To  Faith !  to  Life  Eternal !  and  to  God ! 

To  strive  for  something  higher !  for  the  Best ! 
To  feel  that  under  all — and  over  all — is  Good. 

Better  to  know  that  at  our  Life-Ship's  helm 

The  Master  stands !    The  Great,  Almighty  One. 


WHERE,  HOW,  AND  WHEN? 

Where  will  it  be — when  we — 

Across  that  unknown  Sea — hold  hands? 
What  will  we  say — when  on  the  way 

We  meet,  in  unseen  lands  ? 
If  look  we  cast  upon  the  past — 

How  will  it  seem  ? 
Will  it  seem  Life — or  only  strife — 

Or,  but  a  dream? 
How  far  to  go  ?    Not  ours  to  know  ! 

Enough  to  think 
Some — loved  the  best — that  sea  have  crossed — 

And  we  draw  nigh  the  brink. 

[188] 


GOD     BLESS     YOU! 


GOD  BLESS  YOU! 

Sweet,  echoing  words,  which  follow  as  one  roams ; 

Far  down  in  hidden  heart-depths  they  impress  you ! 
We  seem  to  hear,  in  tender  Mother-tones, 

This  whispered  benediction,  "Dear,  God  bless  you!" 

They  bring  back  faces  loved,  and  long  since  gone, 

With  stirring  thoughts  which  charm,  yet  half  oppress  you ; 

You  dream  again! — again  you  see  the  form — 

And  hear  a  well-known  voice  breathe,  "  Dear,  God  bless  you ! " 

Cherish  for  aye  that  heart-felt  Mother-prayer ! 

Armor  of  strength  to  guide  you,  and  protect  you ! 
What  can  assail  one,  whether  here  or  there, 

When  overshadowed  with  the  prayer,  "God  bless  you"? 

Come  from  the  past,  sweet  voices  we  have  loved ! 

Out  of  the  shadows,  come !  we  listen  for  you ! 
Oh,  how  we've  craved,  so  long  as  we  have  roved, 

To  hear  again  that  fervent — "Dear,  God  bless  you!" 

[189] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 


'Twill  come  again,  when  this  life's  dream  is  o'er, 

And  shadows  gather,  as  the  sun  is  setting; 
Then  in  the  dawn — upon  that  other  shore — 

Once  more  we'll  hear,  "  God  bless  you,  dear ! " — as  greeting. 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  ORIENT 

There's  a  note  falling  soft  on  the  ear, 
A  silvery,  whispering  tone ; 

Phantom  winds  through  the  leaves, 

In  a  forest  of  trees, 
Breathe  the  note  in  an  infantile  moan. 

'Tis  a  call  that  is  soundless — yet  sure, 
So  strangely  pathetic,  yet  strong ; 

And  sometimes  it  seems, 

In  our  half-awake  dreams, 
We  are  listening  to  Orient-song. 

'Tis  a  note  as  of  temple-like  call, 

A  tinkle,  borne  hence  on  the  air; 
We  are  scenting  once  more, 
From  a  blossom-strewn  floor, 

Odors  sweet — and  the  faithful  kneel  there. 
[  190] 


TO     ONE     NEARING        THE     OTHER     SIDE: 


'Tis  a  harmony-note,  from  afar, 
Where  the  heathen-god,  pensive,  serene, 

Sits  passive  and  blest, 

In  Nirvana,  at  rest — 
Neither  Heaven,  nor  Earth,  but  between. 

'Tis  a  call,  coming  strong  from  the  East — 
And  it  heeds  not  the  hour  nor  the  day ; 
And  there's  with  it  a  hand 
Which  we'd  fain  understand — 
But  it  beckons — and  beckons — that  way. 


TO  ONE  NEARING  "THE  OTHER  SIDE" 

Can't  you  pause  upon  the  threshold,  as  you  slowly  pass  away? 
Can't  you  sense  a  softened  whisper,  and  catch  what  we  long  to  say  ? 
Can't  you  carry  to  "the  other  side,"  to  friends  of  mine  and  thine, 
A  little  word  to  link  us  with  the  dear  old  Summer-time? 

That  dear  old  Summer-time  agone,  when  hearts  were  in  their  prime, 
And  sunshine  baffled  shadow  in  that  dear  old  Summer-time ; 
When  from  the  East  the  Sun-god  came,  and  rolled  along  too  soon. 
Too  brief  the  hours!  too  fleeting — when  but  florets  were  in  bloom! 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


When  Time  itself  seemed  on  the  wing,  and,  bird-like,  fairly  flew ! 
When  pansies  lifted  laughing  eyes  to  see  where  heartsease  grew  ; 
When  sun  rose  high,  with  million  rays,  o'er  path  but  flowery  line, 
O'er  which  we,  wandering,  found  all  life  but  joyous  Summer-time. 

Go  tell  them,  on  "the  other  side,"  that  hearts  are  true  alway. 
As  when  they  went  to  tread  the  paths  we'll  surely  tread  some  day ; 
"Take  a  message  and  a  token"  to  those  hearts  so  dear  to  mine, 
Those  hearts  so  loved  and  loving,  in  the  dear  old  Summer-time. 

Tell  them  our  eyes  are  looking  where  the  myriad  star-lights  shine ; 
We  know  not  if  'tis  Heaven  there — but  'twill  be  Summer-time 
When  once  again  the  hands  we  clasp,  and  joyously  we  see 
How — hand  in  hand — we'll  journey  on  through  all  eternity. 

Where  hearts,  we're  told,  grow  never  old ;  where  youth  wanes  not, 

nor  dies ; 

Where  truths  abound,  and  peace  is  found,  and  God's  love  underlies 
All  paths  which  bend,  with  upward  trend ;  where,  round  on  round, 

we'll  climb. 
So  shall  we  go — with  hearts  aglow — to  reach  God's  Summer-time. 


[  192] 


A     WAYSIDE     THOUGHT 


A  WAYSIDE  THOUGHT 

God  leads  the  way!    Why,  then,  should  one  repine? 
Why  not  walk  on,  in  confidence  divine? 
When  Love  encircles — why  a  faltering  pace? 
Why  not  keep  near — and  see  the  Father's  face? 
On — straightway  on!  through  labyrinth,  though  it  be, 
Through  Ocean's  wildness,  on — to  Summer  sea. 

Why  would  we  drop  the  load,  while  yet  'tis  day  ? 

Others  there  are !    Yea !  all  along  the  way 

Are  those  bowed  low — and  those  alert  with  force — 

But  each  one  carries  his  or  her  own  cross. 

Each  one  a  burden-bearer !    So  they  go ! 

Each  one  through  discipline  must  learn,  and  grow. 

Onward  and  upward,  then !  nor  lose  the  guide ! 

Nor  fail  to  cull  the  flowers  on  either  side! 

For  you  and  me  they  bloom — in  sweet,  wTild  way— 

And  in  aeolian  whispers  seem  to  say— 

"Just  as  the  sunbeams  o'er  us  all  do  fall, 

So  spreads  the  Father's  Love — and  covers  all." 

[193] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


Thus  may  it  be !  we'll  scan  th'  horizon  o'er, 
And  still  we'll  ever  read  —  Excelsior! 
On — and  yet  on! — we'll  march  with  steady  tread 
To  reach  a  goal — with  greater  goal  ahead. 

Be  it  like  this — or  howsoe'er  it  be — 

See  to  it  that  our  own  epiphany 

Is  clear !    So  shall  we  radiate  a  light 

Which  on  life's  highway  proves  a  beacon  bright  ; 

That  others  passing,  see — and  find  the  way 

To  where  a  fadeless  morn  makes  endless  day. 


THE  RECALL 

By  a  river — we'll  call  it  the  River  of  Ease — 

We  loitered — at  rest — on  its  green-bordered  shore; 

A  murmuring  soft  came  through  fan-spreading  trees 

As  we  lingered — content  just  to  breathe — nothing  more. 

'Twas  joy  to  exist !   'twas  enough  to  be  there ! 

"To  be"  was  God-given!  and  thankfully,  then, 
We  welcomed  the  morrow !  a  truce  to  all  care ! 

No  questioning  doubts  as  to  "why"  or  to  "when." 

[194] 


THE     RECALL 


Just  reveled  we  both  by  that  River  of  Ease ! 

Just  reveled — and  listened — and  dreamed  for  a  spell! 
Yes!  dreamed  away  hours,  and  days,  that  were  rife 

With  a  Peace  that  no  specter  of  ill  could  dispel. 

How  lovely !    How  dreamy  that  River  of  Ease ! 

So  lingering  and  softly  its  sunsets  were  given ! 
And  somehow,  as  cool  evening  winds  kissed  the  trees, 

We  thought  of  the  Home — known  through  faith — and  called 
Heaven. 

And  even  today,  as  we  fancy  again 

We  live  mid  the  scenes  of  that  far-away  shore, 
We  hear  the  same  murmur,  and  catch  the  refrain 

Of  the  song  of  the  winds,  as  they  whispered  of  yore. 

Then  come  to  us  now,  with  your  softness  and  balm, 

Ye  winds  of  the  Orient !    Spice-scented  air ! 
Come  back  with  your  wonderful,  siren-like  charm ! 

Let  us  dream  !  and  the  dream  be — we're  once  again  there. 


[195] 


THOUGHTS    AS     THEY    CAME 


OUR  JANE 

She  lived — we  know — and  loved — and  did  her  best; 
She  lives  today — we  know  not  where — but  with  the  blest. 

******* 

We  know  of  one  in  whom  the  heart-bird  sang 

As  naturally  as  if  upon  the  wing; 
E'en  through  the  long  and  weary  hours,  there  rang 

Sweet  notes  which  hope  and  patient  waiting  bring. 
Oh,  how  he  sang  when  sunbeams  came  to  cheer! 
Nor  lost  his  note  to  see  them  disappear. 

And  now  we  think  he  sings,  with  clearer  song, 

Some  notes  to  mortal  never,  never  given ; 
Soft  memories,  which  tender  tones  prolong, 

Unearthly  tones,  that  speak  the  peace  of  Heaven. 
Strains  sweeter  grown — which  for  those  souls  arise 
Who  fall  asleep — and  wake  beyond  the  skies. 

Peaceful  and  "Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart," 
Who  wait  not — in  the  stepping  Heavenward  — 

Till  earthly  ties  let  free  the  hold,  and  part, 
To  haply  see  and  recognize  their  God. 

[196] 


WE     TWO 

Blessed,  indeed,  these  pure  in  heart — they  seem, 
E'en  while  on  earth,  to  catch  of  Heaven  a  gleam. 

And  now — in  every  woodland  note  we  hear, 
In  every  bird-song  quivering  on  the  air — 

There  seems  an  echo  soft,  yet  strangely  clear, 
Of  notes  celestial — somehow  wafted  here. 

We  love  to  catch  them,  for  they  seem  to  say, 

"Grieve  not  for  me!  my  wee  bird  sings  alway." 


WE  TWO 

Long  years  have  passed !  but,  strange !  how  yesterday 

Time  flooded  back !  faded  all  else  away ! 

No  other  days  there  were !  no  other  One ! 

Just  Baby-girl  and  I !    We  two !  alone ! 

Together  she  and  I  once  more !  all  through 

The  finding  of  a  little,  oft'-worn  shoe. 

Closely  I  held  it,  as,  with  pent-up  sigh, 

Dear  Baby-feet  I  heard  come  pattering  by. 

The  past  and  present — One!  no  gap  of  years! 

No  missing  link !  no  empty  arms !  no  tears ! 

[  197  ] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 

Just  we — together!    Little  One  and  I! 
Here,  once  again,  from  out  that  long  gone-by. 
Dear  Baby-shoe !  so  marked !  no  impress  gone ! 
But  just  as  clear  as  if  but  lately  worn ; 
Once  more  had  I  my  precious  Baby-girl — 
Through  tiny  shoe  and  little  golden  curl. 


WHEN  THE  SHADOWS  FADE  AWAY 

How  distant  the  clouds  in  the  dawning  of  light, 
Whose  mantles  hung  low  in  the  shadowy  night ; 
How  lessened  the  care !  and  the  sorrow  we  bear 
Seems  passed  to  The  One  ever  ready  to  share. 

And  what  if  our  footsteps  go  wandering  where 
Life's  burdens  seem  heavy!  Life's  path  hard  and  bare; 
We'd  fain  drop  the  burdens !  and,  dulled  with  despair, 
Forget  that  around  us  is  Infinite  Care. 

Perhaps  we  shall  come  by  these  pathways  to  know- 
When  life's  golden  sunset  is  flickering  low  — 
'Twas  a  part  of  earth's  lesson — to  help  us  to  grow, 
And  fit  us  for  realms  in  the  great  Afterglow. 

[198] 


THE     CALL     OF     THE     INFINITE 

Then,  what  though  the  hush  of  the  night  hour  seems  long? 
We  know,  with  the  earliest  blush  of  the  dawn, 
Will  waken  the  echoes — and  waken  the  song 
Of  another — and  glorious  sunlit  morn. 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  INFINITE 

Why  not  be  happy  ?    Do  not  the  soft  winds  blow, 
And  whisper  "Love"?    Do  not  the  flowers  grow 
And  say — in  sweet,  though  speechless  way, 
In  tune  with  nightly  moon  and  orb  of  day— 
"We  know,  throughout  the  breadth  of  all  the  land 
We  live,  because  an  unseen,  powerful  Hand 
Is  holding,  guiding,  giving  love  so  true, 
And  giving  Life  to  us — and  Life  to  you." 

The  violets  nestling,  and  the  stately  rose; 
The  meteor's  flash ;  the  tiny  star,  which  shows 
In  baby-way  a  tiny,  twinkling  ray, 
And  smiles — as  if  those  smiles,  with  angel  glow, 
Might  reach  the  heart  of  wanderers  below— 

[  199] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

All  these  speak  out !    And  with  a  mighty  call 
Proclaim  The  God  —  Creator  of  them  all. 
Our  Life  as  well !  whence  has  it  constant  source  ? 
And  how — and  where — will  run  its  endless  course? 

The  mountain  heights — wrapped  in  eternal  snow, 
Hugging  green,  sheltered  vales,  where  blossoms  grow, 
And  where  the  stream  from  glacial  bed  has  dropped 
To  find  a  flowing  in  more  vernal  spot — 
These,  too — from  great,  stupendous  height 
And  lowland  deep — both  speak  a  God  of  Might. 

Seed-time  and  harvest — rivulet  and  song — 

Day-dawn  and  afterglow — Nay!  All  day  long! 

Ocean's  smooth,  mirrored  sea — followed  by  roar 

Of  tempest  high — and  angered  waves — all  speak  of  power! 

A  power  majestic!  born  of  strength  divine! 

Creative  power  through  never-ending  time. 

Night's  myriad  lanterns  as  they  flash,  and  shed 
Their  twinkling  lights  whereon  we  mortals  tread  ; 
The  budding  leaf,  restrained  by  Winter's  chill, 
Unfolding  to  the  Great  Creator's  will ; 

[200] 


THE     CALL     OF     THE     INFINITE 

The  wee,  green  blade  which  shoots  from  Mother  Earth, 
Proclaiming  broadcast  Spring's  perennial  birth ; 
The  bursting,  budding,  blooming,  everywhere 
Asserting  Life  Eternal — which  we  share; 
All — all  are  answering  to  the  Master's  call. 
The  great  Unseen !    Life-Giver  of  us  all. 

Then  why  not  happy?    Do  not  the  soft  winds  blow, 
And  whisper  "Love"?    Do  not  the  flowers  grow 
And  say — in  sweet,  though  speechless  way— 
"December  comes,  but  never  comes  to  stay"? 
The  colder  months  lay  claim  to  frosty  smile, 
And  so  the  blossoms  leave  us  for  a  while  ; 
The  chill  winds  send  the  Summer  birdlings  off, 
But  not  for  aye !    Again  they'll  seek  the  North. 

Then  what  of  Life  ?    Is  it  not  faith  fulfilled  ? 
An  endless  scent  from  spirit-rose  distilled  ? 
A  living  stream,  whose  waters  ever  flow? 
Whose  Alpha  is  the  only  God  we  know  ? 
What  though  December  tarries  by  the  way— 
We  know  'tis  followed  by  the  budding  May. 
Then  why  not  give — as  year  laps  well  on  year— 
With  Life  renewed — give  Resurrection  cheer. 

[201  ] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


LIFE'S  QUERIES 

We — like  leaves  —  have  had  our  Spring-time, 
Budded — then  unfurled — and  gave 

O'er  the  far-extending  branches 
Either  poor  or  sheltering  shade. 

In  our  own  case — has  it  been 

Goodly  shade  for  fellowmen? 

Have  our  leaves  been  full  of  vigor  ? 

Every  fiber  teemed  with  Life  ? 
Have  they  grown  to  their  full  measure  ? 

Baffled  heat  and  weathered  strife  ? 
Have  we  done  our  best  for  those 
Whom  in  passing  sought  repose  ? 

Have  we  covered  well  the  branches? 

Leaving  naught  of  space  between  ? 
Idle  moments — leafless  patches — 

Or  full  growth  of  vivid  green  ? 
Have  we  every  effort  made 
Thus  to  give  a  grateful  shade  ? 

[  202  ] 


THE     SONG     OF     THE     PAST 


Were  our  Spring-leaves  firm,  though  tender  ? 

Flushed  with  growth  our  Life's  high-noon  ? 
Did  young  May  and  late  September 

Find  activities  in  bloom  ? 
Then  —  in  going — may  we  go 
Clothed  in  Autumn's  richest  glow! 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  PAST 

How  it  haunts  me!    And  jingles!    And  rings  in  my  ears ! 
The  song  that  we  sang  in  the  long-agone  years, 
When  the  night-bells  pealed  forth  and  the  year  took  its  leave, 
And  we  grouped  for  the  singing,  that  gone  New  Year's  Eve. 

The  air  then  so  keen,  with  a  cold,  silvered  light, 
Breathed  fresh  of  a  Yuletide  wrapped  softly  in  white  ; 
Every  star  seemed  to  twinkle  in  chorus !    A  love 
Which  in  sweet  benediction  came  down  from  above. 

A  night  of  all  nights!    When  a  sharp  atmosphere 
Brings  to  earth  those  innumerable  orbs  strangely  near ! 
And  gazing  in  wonder — we  mortals  oft'  say— 
"Is  it  true,  as  they  tell  us — they're  far,  far  away?" 

[203] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


But  where  now  are  They  ?    They  that  came  at  my  call, 
And  joyously  sang,  "Happy  New  Year  to  all"? 
Where  ?    Who  can  tell  where  ?    Who  has  come  back  to  say 
As  to  where  they  have  gone — or  to  point  us  the  way? 

Yet  we  feel  a  mere  veiling — so  sheer — hangs  between 
Our  own  and  ourselves! — Just  a  spirit-like  screen 
We  well-nigh  can  pierce — and,  like  in-coming  tide, 
In  they  float — one  by  one — as  the  veil  rolls  aside. 

Together!    All  mingling!    How  joyous  they  come ! 
Dear  bearers  of  "  Heartsease" — our  emblem  of  Home ; 
Sweet  bloom — ever  blooming  within  the  old  walls, 
And  now,  like  response  to  the  dear,  well-known  calls, 

It  buds  out  afresh !    Love  and  harmony  reign, 

As  the  old  family  group  haply  mingles  again. 

What  then — though  the  night  wanes — I  feel  not  alone! 

I'm  living  sweet  hours  in  the  old,  hallowed  Home. 

Is  it  wrong,  then,  to  yearn  in  the  quiet  tonight 
For  the  voices  so  stilled,  and  the  forms  beyond  sight  ? 
For  the  dear  Mother-love,  and  a  touch  of  the  hand— 
That  love  all-forgiving — which  held  in  command 

[204] 


THE     SONG     OF     THE     PAST 


Any  ripple  arising — whose  spreading,  allayed, 
Broke  away  into  foam,  e'er  it  grew  to  a  wave. 
That  dear  Mother-love !    So  enduring!    So  true! 
So  helpful  and  beautiful — life's  journey  through! 

So  full  of  a  patience  which  knew  no  alloy ! 
So  full  of  completeness — of  heartsease  and  joy! 
Then  why  not  this  longing?    This  yearning  instilled 
In  the  heart  of  the  mortal,  which  will  not  be  quelled. 

'Tis  only  a  sigh  for  the  dear,  old-time  Home ! 

'Tis  only  the  heart  calling  out  to  its  own. 

Sing  on,  then,  ye  Voices!    That  glad  time  renew! 

We'll  sing  out  the  "Old"  now,  and  welcome  the  "New." 

We'll  sing,  as  of  yore,  in  a  soft  cadence  clear, 

And  again — with  sweet  carols — ring  in  the  New  Year! 

Again  will  we  mingle,  and  list'  the  soft  flow 

Of  the  dear  family  greetings  of  long,  long  ago. 

And  so  let  it  be !    As  the  last  moments  creep 
Which  will  drop  the  old  year  into  fathomless  sleep, 
Come !   List'  we  together  the  Old  Friend's  retreat, 
And  with  glee  of  the  old-time  the  In-comer  greet. 
Aye!  Come  back!    Come  ever,  as  last  echoes  fall— 
Come,  sing  we  together,  "Glad  New  Year  to  All." 
[205  ] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


WHERE  THE  LIGHTS  ARE  DIMMED 

'Tis  true  that  here  Life  looks  so  drear — 

A  darkened  room — and  the  low  clouds  black; 

But  where  she  has  gone 

'Tis  eternal  morn. 
Call  her  not  back !    Call  her  not  back ! 

Call  her  not  back  from  that  new-found  realm, 
And  her  pathway  bright,  where  the  angels  tread ; 

'Tis  hers  to  roam 

In  a  spirit-home. 
Call  her  not  dead !    She  is  not  dead ! 

She  is  not  dead !    'Twas  The  Master  said 
There  are  mansions  many !    Prepared  for  all ! 

In  one — her  own !  — 

She  has  found  her  Home, 
And  waits  till  you  answer  The  Master's  Call. 


[206] 


WAITING 


WAITING 

Waiting  for  the  final  sunset, 

And  the  day  which  follows  morn ; 

For  the  last  of  all  things  earthly, 
And  the  calm  which  follows  storm. 

Waiting  as  the  shadows  fall, 

For  the  coming  Master's  call. 

Waiting  yet,  a  little  longer, 

With  the  shadows  near  at  hand — 
They  must  deepen  as  we  tarry 

On  the  near-by  Border-Land. 
Oh,  the  glinting,  silvery  strand. 
Of  that  near-by  Border-Land ! 

Who  would  ask  to  linger  longer  ? 

Why  refuse  the  peace  and  rest? 
Why  not  wish  to  join  the  children 

Of  the  "pure  in  heart"  and  blest? 
Bondage  o'er  and  Spirit  free — 
Clothed  in  Immortality. 

[207] 


THOUGHTS    AS     THEY    CAME 


HEARTSEASE 

To  M.  S. 

There's  a  heart-loving  wish  I  am  speeding  away 

For  you — and  for  yours — on  this  dear  Christmas  day ! 

And  when,  in  the  future,  in  long  hours  to  come, 

And  you — in  a  reverie — sitting  alone — 

Will  gather  up  threads  from  the  Past — may  you  say  — 

******* 

"With  delight  I  can  call  back  that  gone  Christmas  day ! 
It  looms  up  so  near !  and  the  wish !  why,  it  seems 
As  if  all  the  }rears  gone  were  but  shadow-like  dreams ! 
And  now,  in  the  quiet  review  that  I  take, 
How  much,  for  thanksgiving,  I  find  in  their  wake ; 
How  quiet  their  entry !    How  somber  at  times, 
When  lowered  were  voices,  and  drawn  were  the  blinds. 
When  only  the  heart  knew  its  own  silent  ache, 
And  the  cost  to  be  merry  for  somebody's  sake ; 
When  peace  came  again  at  the  close  of  the  day, 
As  we  rested — and  laid  all  our  memories  away." 

[208] 


"And  then,  with  what  jingling  some  other  years  came  ! 
With  what  real,  joyous  greeting,  and  carol  refrain ! 
And  how  in  the  dawn,  and  in  night's  gentle  fall, 
We  lustily  sang — '  Merry  Christmas  to  all ! ' 
How  clear  come  these  pictures  of  years  upon  years ! 
How  blessings  unfold  !    How  like  vapor  our  fears ! 
How  the  tears  that  have  fallen,  and  fell  fast,  'tis  true ! 
\Vere  only  as  cloud-beds,  with  sun  shining  through ; 
They  but  watered  the  soil  in  a  love-ordered  flow, 
And  helped  thus  the  blossom  of  heartsease  to  grow." 
******* 

May  you,  dear!  in  reverie — sitting  alone — 

Echo  this,  from  the  heart,  in  the  long  years  to  come. 


Is  it  from  pride — for  land  increase — or  honor's  sake  men  war? 
Is  it  for  Country  they  would  die  ?    Would  they  not  serve  it  more 
By  living — and  by  letting  live — big,  noble,  natural  lives? 
Leaving  to  wild,  untutored  men  the  deeds  of  fratricides. 
Can  sound — however  great  from  fife  or  drum — 
Break  death's  dire  silence  wrhen  the  day  is  done? 

[209] 


THOUGHTS    AS     THEY    CAME 

Is  it  a  gain  when  scores  of  men — aye!  thousands  multiplied— 

Lay  in  the  open,  helpless?    Maimed  and  lifeless,  side  by  side? 

Is  it  a  gain  when  scores  of  hearts — bereft — cry  out  aloud 

For  those  beloved  ?    For  those  cut  down  like  grass  by  reaper  mowed  ? 

Ah !  but  what  grim !  What  ghastly  gain !  What  cost ! 

Outweighed  by  brutal,  most  unholy  loss. 

Must  it  be  thus?  Must  noble  youth — and  manhood  of  this  world  — 
Forever  keep  their  Nation's  Flag  to  deeds  of  blood  unfurled  ? 
Must  settle  claims,  and  claimants  false — and  part  the  wrong  from 

right- 
Not  by  their  reasoning,  mental  force,  but  deadly,  barbarous  might? 
Are  not  their  God-given  powers  gone  far  astray  ? 
Would  they  might  find  more  humane,  Christ-like  way! 


THE  CALL  TO  ARMS 

Up  from  a  placid  sea 
Rose  a  grim  phantasy — 

One  hoped,  unreal ! 
Till,  in  the  by  and  by, 
One  could  a  form  descry, 

Wrapped  well  in  steel. 
[210] 


THE     CALL     TO     ARMS 


Armored !   With  hosts  of  those 
Friends  once,  now  turned  to  foes, 

Eager  for  strife ! 
Eager  to  gain  the  day ! 
Theirs  to  control  and  sway 

All  human  life. 


Was  it  to  set  men  free  ? 
Was  it  a  just  decree, 

Thus  to  assert 
Ego,  omnipotence — 
One  nation's  super-sense 

O'er  all  the  earth  ? 


Fast,  then,  fell  shot  and  shell ! 
As  from  the  door  of  hell 

Burst  impious  flames! 
Years  pass !   Still  shot  and  shell, 
Still  under-sea  hounds  swell 

The  War-God's  claims. 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


What  will  his  harvest  be? 
God  and  Eternity 

Only  can  tell. 

Know  we,  our  God  of  Might, 
Author  of  Life  and  Right, 

Stronger  than  hell — 


Will — in  His  own  just  ways 
Balance  these  murderous  days — 

Of  mercy  shorn. 

Where  glimmering  light  has  gleamed, 
Will  dawn  a  world  redeemed 

To  Right  from  Wrong. 


Fall,  then,  ye  shot  and  shell ! 
Fall !  Ye  have  much  to  quell ! 

Wild  roars  the  sea ! 
Free  to  the  sons  of  Earth ! 
Now,  from  one  nation's  girth, 

Calls  to  be  free. 


[212] 


THE     CALL     TO     ARMS 

Hark !   'Tis  the  children's  wail ! 
Let  not  your  courage  fail ! 

"Hunger!"  the  cry. 
Why  would  ye  longer  wait  ? 
On !  Let  your  aim  be  straight ! 

Strike !   ere  all  die. 


On !   For  the  foes  are  fierce ! 
Trained  to  be  merciless ! 

Rights  are  at  stake! 
Do  not  the  depths  of  sea, 
Strewn  with  humanity, 

Bid  you  awake? 


On !  Though  through  strife  we're  led ! 
On !  Though  each  heart  be  bled ! 

Our  Flag  uphold ! 
"Old  Glory  "well  in  hand, 
Unfurled  throughout  the  land, 

Will  keep  hearts  bold. 


[213] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY    CAME 

On,  then !  Till  wrongs  be  felled ! 
On !   Till  the  storm  be  quelled 

And  war  flag  furled ! 
On !   Till  God's  peace  be  found 
Rising  o'er  blood-stained  ground, 

To  link  the  world. 


THE  CHIMES  OF  CORNELL 

A  soft  wind  coyly  kissing  feathery  leaf ; 

A  note  of  bird  that  sounds  the  opening  spring  ; 
A  breath,  which  speaks  of  peace  and  quiet  mirth, 

And  from  yon  belfry  chimes  are  wont  to  ring. 
Who  that  has  heard  them  but  would  swiftly  tell 
Of  visions  fair,  as  thoughts  bring  back  Cornell  ? 

Who  that  has  heard  them  as  the  morning  breaks, 

And  from  his  hiding  place  bursts  forth  the  sun, 

Glinting  Cayuga's  waters,  and  oft'  makes 
A  matin  resting  place  on  Sibley  Dome. 

Who  but  would  fain  forever  hold  them  fast  ? 

These  memory  bells !  Aye !  Long  as  memory  lasts. 

[214] 


THE     CHIMES     OF     CORNELL 


Who  that  has  heard  them  as  the  shadows  fall, 

And  comes  the  hush  which  tells  the  close  of  day, 

That  mellowing  stillness !  That  which  mantles  all, 
And  bids  the  birdlings  twittering  hie  away. 

Who  that  has  heard  them  in  this  softened  light 

Can  fail  to  catch  sweet  echoes  of  "Good  night"? 


And  now  her  sons !   Cornell's  fine,  youthful  Braves ! 

Gone  to  the  front,  to  do  their  manly  part ! 
Gone  with  the  hosts  to  where  great  heroes'  graves, 

Alas!   will  pile,  and  make  vast  monument. 
And  oft'  we  think,  in  low-toned  roundelay  — 
"God  bless  our  boys,"  is  what  the  dear  bells  say. 


Beyond  the  noise  of  cannon-roar  and  shell, 
Beyond  all  clamorous,  intervening  space, 

Beyond  this  din  of  battle — who  can  tell  ? 
It  may  not  all  sweet  memories  efface. 

Haply  in  far-off  trenches  they  may  hear 

Cornell's  sweet  chimes,  to  bid  "Godspeed"  and  "Cheer." 


[215] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAM 


"  God  bless  our  boys ! "  So  say  we  all  of  us ! 

And  bring  them  back  to  native  soil  and  friends! 
To  Home!  And  all  that's  true,  and  good,  and  best; 

And  speed  the  hour  when  this  fierce  carnage  ends. 
When  hearts  shall  glow  afresh,  and  gleefully 
Cornell's  sweet  bells  ring  paeans  of  victory. 


YALE 

Here,  amid  old-time  elms,  whose  branches  lock  o'erhead, 
And  where,  'tween  ivied  walls,  is  Campus  far  outspread ; 
Here  "Mother  Yale,"  for  two  long  centuries  gone, 
With  open  door  has  wooed  her  sons  to  come. 

Has  bade  them  wander  through  her  classic  halls, 
And  find  response  to  each  man's  mental  calls. 
Has  lured  them  through  these  spreading  elms  to  stray ; 
And,  following  devious  pathways  day  by  day— 

Gain  through  research  that  which  each  path  supplies  ; 
Full  table  spread !  Rich  food  for  embryo  lives ! 
Has  bade  the  fire  of  youth  with  spirit  burn ; 
And  helped  them,  through  her  forceful  teachings,  turn 

[216] 


W&  YALE 

Toward  purpose  steadfast !  Their  young  blood  to  surge 
With  strength !    And  Honor,  each  man's  dross  submerge. 
Has  taught  Life's  meaning !   And  how  best  attain 
The  best!   To  help  make  Men — her  great,  unceasing  aim. 

She  gives  no  credence  to  such  word  as  fail! 
But,  armed  with  loyalty,  these  sons  of  Yale 
Go  forth  today,   beyond  yon   foe-trailed  sea, 
To  fight  the  cause  of  World  Democracy. 

She  bids  them  go !  Though  fierce  the  contest  be, 
For  Right  they  stand !  and  theirs  the  victory ! 
She  bids  them  be  to  Alma  Mater  true ! 
Theirs  to  support  the  honor  of  the  Blue. 

Theirs  to  withstand,  though  direful  foes  assail ! 
Theirs  to  make  good !   and  let  no  wrong  prevail ! 
To  seek — to  find — and  hold  the  Honor  Trail! 
"To  arms!    For  God,  for  Country,  and  for  Yale!" 


[217] 


THOUGHTS    AS     THEY     CAME 


SOME  OTHER  WAY 

We  say,  "To  Arms! "  knowing  the  while  so  well, 
'Tis  not  humane  thus  fiercely  feuds  to  quell. 
It  augurs  surely  of  barbaric  way 
When  man,  to  win — his  fellowman  would  slay. 

Great,  generous  hearts,  which  pulse  with  noble  deeds ! 
Crushed  into  silence  through  dread  battle  siege. 
And  should  it  long  endure,  this  game  of  life — 
Or  game  of  death !  since  death  must  end  the  strife — 

What  of  the  Victor  and  his  martial  tread, 
Reaching  his  trophies  o'er  a  countless  dead  ? 
Oh,  for  some  other  way !  more  humane  form ! 
Than  on  a  field  of  carnage,  right  a  wrong! 

We  say,  "To  Arms!  To  Arms!"  and  think  'tis  right 
To  follow  not  by  reason,  but  by  might. 
We  say,  "To  Arms!"  yet  how  we  clutch  the  hope 
That  somehow  "ours"  may  feel  no  battle  stroke. 

[218] 


SOME     OTHER     WAY 


We  want  them  there !    Aye !  foremost  in  the  lead ! 
Upholding  "Right"  with  firm  and  dauntless  tread! 
Spartans  we'll  be !    Will  do  allotted  part ! 
E'en  though  with  Victory  comes  a  broken  heart. 

Oh,  that  "To  Arms!"  be  silenced  through  the  lands, 
And  men  emerge  from  hatred  to  clasp  hands! 
Would  that  these  chains,  these  feud  chains,  soon  be  riven ! 
And  "  Peace  on  earth  "  the  hallowed  order  given. 

That  misty,  half-closed  eyes  may  come  to  see 
The  all  of  truth,  of  right,  and  equity ! 
An  outlook  higher !  freed  from  selfish  gains ! 
"To  live,  and  to  let  live,"  man's  honest  aims. 

God  give  it  wings !   and  grant  it  soon  may  come, 
Like  foretaste  of  a  great  millennium! 
A  shower  of  wisdom  send !  that  thus  we  may 
Find  through  Thy  leadership  some  other  way. 


[219] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


KEEP  IT  WAVING 

We  ask  to  surmount  all  the  horrors  of  war, 

Undaunted  to  stand  as  fresh  courage  finds  birth ; 
To  say — with  "God  keep  you,"  through  cannon  and  gore — 

"Go!  Fight  for  the  Right  and  the  Good  of  the  Earth." 

To  the  rumbling  afar — rolling  in  like  a  flood- 
How  we  listen !    Then,  shuddering,  we  bid  them  to  go, 

Knowing  well  in  the  going  may  flow  their  life's  blood. 
'Tis  a  call  from  our  Allies !  A  threat  from  the  foe. 

Then  on — full  of  manhood !    Aye !  boys  full  of  youth  ! 

With  the  Standard  of  Freedom  upheld  and  unfurled ! 
To  The  God  of  All  Nations— of  Justice— and  Truth! 

We  but  cry — "Bring  them  back  when  Peace  reigns  o'er  the  world." 


[  220  ] 


THE     UNVEILING     OF     TRUTH 


THE  UNVEILING  OF  TRUTH 

Suggested  by  the  soul-stirring  times  through  which  we  are 
passing,  and  a  thrilling  sermon  delivered  November  3,  1918, 
by  Dr.  Mason  L.  Clarke,  from  Isaiah  17:  12. 

Hark !  from  a  scene  of  woe, 
Wherein  is  deadly  foe  — 

Clamorings  are  heard ! 
Muffled  at  first !    The  cries 
Swell  as  fierce  booms  arise ! 

Demons  seem  stirred. 


Why  such  tempestuous  sound  ? 
As  if  to  crunching  ground 

Fell  mighty  walls ! 
What  means  retreating  troops  ? 
Why  angered,  frenzied  groups- 

And  threatening  calls  ? 


[221] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 

What  means  it? — but  a  host 
Sensing  the  awful  cost 

Of  years  now  gone ! 
Cost  of  the  homes  made  drear ! 
Dawn  of  a  Truth  made  clear 

Through  a  world-wide  wrong. 


Aye!  but  God's  Mills — we  find- 
Slow  though  it  be — they  grind! 

And  they  grind  exceeding  sure. 
He  that  hath  stood  for  the  Right, 
Rather  than  bestial  might — 

He — alone — will  endure. 


Hark !  from  that  far-off  shore, 

Like  to  great  Ocean's  roar- 
More  human  cries! 

Cries  as  of  vengeance  stroke ! 

Cracklings  of  despot's  yoke 
Blackening  the  skies. 


[  222  ] 


THE     UNVEILING     OF     TRUTH 

Loud — and  still  louder  come 
Echoes  of  righteous  storm ! 

Anger — and  threat — and  wail! 
Scepter  and  king  must  fall ! 
Justice  be  crown  of  all, 

And  Right  prevail. 


God  grant  the  harvest  be 
Nations — in  Truth — set  free 

Under  His  righteous  laws! 
Workers  for  suffering  needs — 
Workers  of  different  creeds — 

Linked  by  a  common  cause. 


Ring,  then,  our  Victory  Bells! 

List  what  their  music  tells ! 
Nor  let  them  cease ! 

Ring!  for  the  long-hushed  word — 

Caught  now,  in  crumblings  beard- 
Though  faint— is  "PEACE." 


[223  ] 


THOUGHTS     AS     THEY     CAME 


ADDENDUM 

Culled  memory-leaves  are  these !  Leaves  of  but  captured  Thought ! 

And  this — the  last  this  way  to  stray — Thank  God !  was  caught! 

Nearer,  and  clearer,  came  its  whisperings  day  by  day— 

Till — pinioned  now — we  feel,  by  Grace  of  God!  'twill  stay. 

The  Cruel  Play!  The  Awful  Tragedy  is  o'er — 

And  curtain  falls  a  blackened  heap  ! — to  rise  no  more. 

The  dark  and  suffering  night  is  passed,  and  morning  dawns ! 

But  with  the  gladsome  passing — issue  fresh  alarms. 

Grave  threatenings  take  on  form — and  must  be  met — 

And  thus,  to  all — Peace  unalloyed  may  not  be  yet. 

Women's  and  children's  cries  are  heard  in  bitter  wail ! 

Cries  for  a  human-harkening  to  a  piteous  tale. 

Nay,  more !  as  Truth  comes  forth !  and  shrinking  screens 

Show  work  incarnate!  Work  of  blackest-branded  fiends! 

We've  seen  the  end,  so  tragic,  of  boastful  tyrant's  plans ; 

A  "would-be-God"!  bereft  of  crown  and  stolen  lands! 

We've  watched  dismantled  monarchs  reach  a  fatal  turn  in  road, 

And  with  a  bleeding  World  thus  freed  —  from  heart  we  say, 

"Thank  God"! 

Again  we  say,  "Thank  God!" — because  there  is  a  God  above — 
And  He — a  God  of  Justice!  None  the  less  than  "God  of  Love." 

[224] 


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